My Very Own Neologism, And How You Can Help Make It A Reality.

Yeah I should be working right now, and just in case you are a client of mine, I'm going to start working on your job any second now. And it's going to be the best work I've ever done. And you're going to cry. Seriously. It's just going to be that good.

But first, I have something to share with you, my blog-buddies. I'd like to invite you to join me in my campaign to introduce a new word into common usage.

Let me explain:

As loyal readers of Fanfare From The Common Wombat (or FFTCW, as I'm sure it will be referred to one day in historical textbooks) know, I am a sweaty-palmed twitching junkie when it comes to the frothy delight known as the Starbucks Frappucino. It's Paul's fault. He introduced me to my first Frap a few years ago, and I'm pretty sure he did it just so he'd have some company on those frantic late night Frap-runs. (That's running to get the Frap, not the runs the Frap gives you later...) He was all sweet about it, "Here, try this... You'll like it... It's not that good for you..." Then there's a straw in your mouth and something cold and creamy sliding down your throat and wham you are hooked my friend, hooked like a...

Um... well, hooked like someone who likes frozen coffee drinks a little too much. But I think you get my point.

Now, in order for you to get behind the new word I'm introducing, you need to understand the mechanics of the Frap. There's a cup, and that cup is filled with delicious frozen beverage. Then on top of that beverage there is a mound of whipped cream. Usually there is some chocolate sauce drizzled on as well, but for the purposes of this discussion note the whipped cream! The whipped cream creates this little mountain rising above the rim of the cup and so the friendly folks at Starbucks enclose the whole thing in this clear plastic dome sort of thing with a wide straw-hole in the top.

To quote Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem, can you picture that? Now imagine that every most of the time, this clear plastic dome is large enough to cover the mound of whipped cream with room to spare. Imagine that usually there is even a small gap between the whipped cream and the top of the dome, where the straw-hole is.

Now, (here comes the important bit...) imagine that every now and then there is too much whipped cream.

Thanks to a particularly zealous or possibly just untrained barista, there is so much whipped cream that it completely fills the clear plastic dome, and a small column of the cream kind of jutts out the hole in top. It looks almost but not quite exactly like a whipped cream breast with a little perky whipped cream nipple.

That, my friends (I smell a new word coming on!!!) is the Whipple.

Now it may seem like I'm getting awfully worked up about this little pip of whipped cream, but you must understand that I've had maybe 150 Fraps in the past few years, and the Whipple only has happened a handful of times. What I noticed was that when is did happen, when I was handed my drink and I saw the stiff little column of cream poking up at me, I felt like I had just won a prize. Not an especially good prize, mind you, but maybe like finding a shiny quarter lying on the sidewalk. Part of you goes "Oh what a lucky boy am I!!!"

Okay, the part of you that says that is a huge nerd and hopeless loser, but let's embrace the moment, shall we? The Whipple is a happy occurrence. The Whipple is just a little but of good luck. The Whipple is a tiny ray of sunshine, or rolling a 7, or putting on your coat for the first time that winter and finding a buck in the pocket.

Help me, my friends. Help me spread the word about the Whipple. With your help, we can kick this word into the vocabulary of John Q. Public. And frankly, that would be just the sort of thing that would give me a thrill. Because...

Well, because I'm the kind of sad, pathetic loser who gets excited over a whipped cream nipple.