Words with Friends?

I have a (rather long) list of words that I actively dislike. The most hated word in the English dictionary--MOIST, like I even need to write it down for you--is of course prime among them. There are a few others that are maybe not so predictable:

• pouch
• trousers
• shrimp (try saying it aloud without sounding like someone you don't want to be)
• gusset
• morsel
• parsnip (obviously)
• Guglielmo (who the hell knows how to pronounce that??)

Today, however, my least favorite word in the whole freakin' universe (after "moist") is "actually," as in "Actually, mom, you only asked me to put on my coat four times, not five." "Actually, mom, Jerry Potts had tuberculosis." "Actually, mom, Pluto is not a planet." "Actually, mom, there isn't a pokemon called U-Green-Poo." I WAS BEING FUNNY. 

It happened so quickly. One day, and I swear it was yesterday, Kid believed in me and my Very Great Brain. Today? I am one of the stupider forms of oatmeal. If Mark Twain is right, I have to wait until my son is 21 before I'm going to get any respect--at which point I will have been at Shady Acres for probably a decade already. 

"Actually, mom," I can hear him saying, "they don't take people at Shady Acres until they're 60, so you'll only have been there for two years." 

I may be the only middle-aged woman on my block to start adding ten years to her age. Much more of the lippy kid shenanigans, and I won't have any trouble passing for 60.