I had no idea what to write, and probably only about three brain cells left awake to write it with, when an acquaintance of mine provided me with the answer: turpitude.
I’m in a small town, and that makes a difference. I have known this acquaintance (and his wife) for (mumble, mumble) years. Long enough to be completely un-threatened by the following story. (If I knew them just a wee bit better, I’d be calling their family doctor, since this is… uncharacteristic.)
He’s older, probably more in the general range of grandfather than father.
Old enough, in fact, that he still says “You’re such a doll.” And he says it without irony.
Today, he added, “You do know what a doll is, don’t you?”
And, of course, I humored him. Why not?
“A doll,” he tells me, “is something you dress and undress, and take to bed, and play with.”