Play Like

In a regional dictionary of child-speak in the South (if such a book existed), the word "plike" would be over a hundred years old. My friends and I used it, as did my mama, as did--most likely--my mama's mama, Mimi. So far, it has not turned up in any of The New York Times word games I do every morning.

"Plike" is a blend of play and like--a hurried version of "play like" a synonym of "pretend."

Kids in some regions of the country might say, "Let's pretend you're the girl and I'm the monster. You think I'm a good guy, but if I drink a sip of this soda, I turn into a monster who could make a meal of you." 

My child self would say, "Plike you're the girl and I'm the monster?  You think I'm good, but if I drink some of this Coke, you can tell I'm fixing to eat you up." 

The first sentence of a story's set-up always ends with a question mark. "Plike we're in high school and we're the girls and this telephone pole here is Johnny Mullis? And we're kissing him?" 

Thus begins the improv. 

I remember those days of Pretend when  I watch Luci run at top speed, growling at her imaginary prey in the back yard.  After she's done pouncing, she checks out the whole yard for  intruders.

I always rattle the door a bit, just in case said intruder might be real and bigger than Luci. Meanwhile, she's scratching at the door begging me to just open it already!

Last week I saw a possum (opossum in the dictionary) right at the back door eating a snack Luci had refused.  I made enough noise that the possum would finish up before Luci bounded through the door. When the light comes on, possum turns and disappears into the bushes.  

Once Luci's assured herself that there is no real danger, she returns with a souvenir of her fantasy chase:  "Plike I'm a vicious big dog who can rip a fox to shreds?" 

Last night it was a piece of stale pound cake I'd tossed out for the birds. Luci doesn't care for sweets, but as point girl in her imaginary combat, it's a prize to hide somewhere in the house, usually under the covers of the bed. 

If she gets a burger patty, it's as if it's too good to eat today--so she promptly digs a hole and buries it, retrieving it a few days later.

If one night there is a real threat, I wouldn't be surprised if Luci high-tailed it back inside and morphed back into her calm little self.  But for a few minutes after dark, she gets to go wild--which looks like a whole lot more fun  than kissing a telephone pole.