I’m on a campaign to bring “latibulate” back into the vernacular of the people, any people really, but especially into mine.
In just 10 letters this obsolete word from the 17th Century describes what I so often feel like doing. The original definition of latibulate from a 1623 dictionary is, “privily to hide ones selfe in a corner.” (Yes, “privily” and “ones selfe” with no apostrophe and an “e.” Gotta smile at “old” English.)
An updated definition would be “to confidently and secretly hide one’s self in a corner in an attempt to escape reality.” Though I really do think I need someplace larger and more secluded than a simple corner to thwart reality finding me, I could improvise say, for example, in The Beast’s castle in the Black Forest.
When my daughter was little, and movies on VHS were a thing, we wore out several tapes of “Disney’s Beauty and the Beast” watching it over and over and over again until we could recite much of the dialogue and sing every word to every song. Though she liked the brave and free-thinking Belle, the level-headed Mrs. Potts and her inquisitive son Chip and Lumière and Cogsworth made her laugh, it was The Beast she loved the most.
While other children cheered at the movie’s end with The Beast’s transformation back into The Prince, Olivia was heartbroken and despondent every time the metamorphosis took place. But mom had a workaround for this. I simply stopped the tape before The Beast became The Prince.
Once when her Aunt Jake was visiting and giving my husband and I a much needed sleep in one Saturday morning by cuddling with Olivia on the sofa and watching the movie, we were jolted awake by our daughter’s tearful wailing, “I want The Beast back! Bring The Beast back! Make The Beast come back.”
“What?” said Aunt Jake.
“REWIND!” I yelled from the bedroom.
“Got it,” Aunt Jake yelled back and seconds later all was right in Olivia’s world again. And in ours too.
Anyway, back to latibulate. It occurred to me on a particularly reality-challenged day earlier this week that instead of a corner, I really would prefer to latibulate in The Beast’s castle. I imagined having the conversation with him after he answered the door.
Me: I’ve come to latibulate in your castle, Beast.
Beast: If you do, then you must live with me in my castle for the rest of your life.
Me: Hmmm, the food is free?
Beast: Yes, but …
Me: And I don’t have to cook, do the dishes, dust, mop the floor, make the bed, clean the toilet or pay rent?
Beast: No you don’t, but you’re missing the point. You can never …
Me: And there’s a giant library?
Beast: Yes, but …
Me: Perfect! Sign me up, Roomie. Imma gonna latibulate right here … happily ever after.
Beast: Please leave.
Me: *Sigh*
Well that exchange didn’t go how I imagined even though I was the one doing the imagining. OK, well then, I thought how about a different castle, say, Hogwarts, maybe?
I imagined myself in the Great Hall, sitting on the stool in front of all the houses, their heads and Albus Dumbledore as Professor Minerva McGonagall slowly lowers the Sorting Hat on to my head. The brim barely comes to rest above my ears when, instead of calling out one of the house name — Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff or Slytherin – the hat trembles violently and shrieks, “THERAPY!”
Sigh.
Oh well, I still think latibulate is a good word and a good thing even though it might take me some practice and better Imagineering to actually, you know, accomplish it.
