I had never come across the word gumption prior to stumbling upon Nick Offerman’s titular book (disclosure: I have yet to read said book at the time of this post, as I’m awaiting its delivery). This word has an effortful pronunciation whose sonic decay is inversely proportional to the vocal energy dispensed by its utterer. It ends with a thump, and a thud. The aftersound is barely audible to my deficient ears. One could argue that its meaning echoes its sound, i.e., a borderline onomatopoeia. My only beef is that a corresponding verb gump does not exist.

Anyhow, it would be wise to take this opportunity and note for my future self the edible pleasure of learning such a wicked word. Any growth of one’s vocabulary in adulthood ought to be a bona fide cause for celebration, especially if said vocabulary is prone to intermittent shrinkage. And to elongate the food analogy ceaselessly, such shrinkage may be thought of as linguistic malnutrition. Hence the requisite relief of malnourishment that only a new word can provide. This raises a curious question: what constitutes a feast regarding the nourishment of one’s vocabulary? Food..ahem…for thought, I reckon.