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The year was 2009. Or maybe it was 2004 or 2011. It doesn’t really matter too much. But it was a long time ago. Genevieve and I were sitting at a table in a restaurant somewhere, trying to decide what to order for brunch. One option was an egg sandwich, only this particular establishment didn’t call it an “egg sandwich.” It was listed on the menu as an “eggwich.” “Eggwich?” I sneered in that ill-tempered way that makes me such an attractive dining companion. “What the hell’s an ‘eggwich’? Just call it an egg sandwich for chrissake.” “It’s a portmanteau!” Genevieve said, clearly much more open to the lighthearted wordplay. “A port-man-who?” “A portmanteau!” Genevieve, even at this early phase of our relationship, was accustomed to explaining words to me. “You know,” she said. “It’s when you take two words and smash them into one word, like ‘jeggings’ or ‘Bennifer’.” (This must have been the early 2000s.) “Oh,” I said, rolling the word around in my own mouth to see how it felt. “A portmanteau. Like…beefaroni?” “I guess,” she said. “Or ‘liger’ -- a combination of lion and tiger.” (Napoleon Dynamite and its obsession with ligers still had a tight grip on the culture back then.) “Turducken!” I exclaimed. “Glamping!” she exclaimed back. “Spanglish!” “Staycation!” “JAZZERCISE!” “Are you doing…okay?” This was the waiter, who seemingly appeared out of thin air. I don’t know how long he was at our table or how loud I’d just shouted ‘jazzercise” to the rest of the brunch crowd. “Hey!” I said to him, still a notch or two too loudly. “‘Brunch’ is a portmanteau!” “I’m sorry?” he asked. “I’ll just have the egg sandwich, please,” I said, handing him my menu. We left him a big tip at the end of the meal. And ever since that day, whenever Genevieve and I stumble across a portmanteau somewhere -- whether we’re driving down the road and we see a sign for “froyo” or if we’re at home and we catch a commercial for a Pizza Hut “Pizzonne” -- we both yell at each other, “HEY! IT’S AN EGG SANDWICH!” And that, dear readers, is why I refer to portmanteaus as “egg sandwiches.” For more scintillating egg-related conversation, I would direct you to Monday’s episode of TBTL entitled Eggers Can’t Be Choosers, which is barely a pun, let alone a portmanteau. I hope you all have a wonderful weekend filled with egg sandwiches (whichever kind you prefer.) Luke and I will talk to you Monday! -- Andrew
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