It’s Sunday evening, and my husband and I are talking. I say something about “next Monday.”

“What?” he says. “You mean tomorrow?”

“No, of course not,” I say, impatiently. “Tomorrow is ‘this Monday.’ ”

It’s all very clear and logical in my mind, but I realize that my thought process is not everyone’s. If I meant tomorrow, should I have said, “this coming Monday”? Or better still, "tomorrow"? And for next Monday, “a week from tomorrow”? And then I wonder, when does “next” become “this”?

We’re both speaking English about a very simple concept, and there’s confusion. I conclude that even in conversation I should assume nothing—advice a lawyer once gave me. I resolve to be more precise, more patient.

And more understanding toward those whose first language is not English and who struggle to understand all the idiosyncrasies of its grammar and word usage. We who were reared speaking English should appreciate how challenging the language can be, even when speaking with another native speaker—and be sure we say clearly what we mean.

One of my regular correspondents is a numbers guy who also has an astute knowledge of grammar and word usage. This intrigues me, even though there are, no doubt, many people who excel at both math and verbal skills. For whatever reason, many of us tend to think that a person is strong in one or the other but not both, until reminded, as I once was by my child’s 8th-grade math teacher, that this is short-sighted and not necessarily true.

Numbers guy is cleaning out his basement and has presented me with a slim paperback volume titled S.O.S., Slips of Speech and How to Avoid Them, published in 1922 and written by the managing editor of Funk & Wagnalls New Standard Dictionary.

(Naturally when I read the author’s credentials, I was reminded of television’s Laugh-in and one of the stock phrases it made popular: “Look that up in your Funk & Wagnalls!” If you’re too young to know what I’m talking about, you might want to Google the show. Better yet, Netflix it.)

Back to S.O.S., which has an amazing entry for gentlewoman:

        An evening newspaper recently announced
        that “Gentlewomen demand dainty underwear.”
        Strange, for the true gentlewoman “asks,”
        “requires,” or “requests” what she needs and
        contents herself with simple undergarments. . . .

The entry goes on, but you’ve got the gist.

Other entries bringing a smile to my face or raising an eyebrow:

•    Fresh for “cheeky” “may be expressive but is not refined.”

•    Breakneck speed is “an absurd phrase,” and angry mob is tautological, for a mob is a turbulent crowd or a riotous assembly.

•    Bunch (for people), cuss (as in “he was a mean cuss”), kid (when meaning “tease”), and slam (when meaning “decry”) are all considered vulgar.

•    Flapper is defined as “a very immoral young girl in her early teens.”

•    Poisonous should not be used of disposition yet one frequently hears, “She has a perfectly poisonous disposition.”

•    Inveigle is pronounced in-vee' gl not in-vay' gl.

Two of the longest entries have to do with the objective case (I or me, he or him) and when to use who or whom.  It appears that a grammarian’s work is never done.

Having perused S.O.S., I have renewed my commitment to keeping the National Geographic Style Manual up-to-date so that no future editor will be able to chuckle over its dictates. Thank you to the people who help me in this endeavor, especially the users who make suggestions and alert me to corrections. Keep up the good work!

The other day, listening to the radio while driving to work, I heard a nationally known print journalist say, “Do we want a President that . .  .” What’s wrong with “who,” I wondered, as he repeated “that.” Within minutes, a university law professor uttered the words “close proximity,” a ridiculous redundancy that has the same effect on me as chalk screeching across chalkboard. I held my breath, waiting for the next breach of proper usage, but nothing else made me flinch before I arrived at work.

In their professions, both journalists and lawyers need to be careful and exacting when it comes to words, at least when the words are in print. Do they not speak as carefully as they write? Or do they write as poorly as they speak and an editor comes along and corrects their errors? Or could it be that I’m the only one bothered by “close proximity”? I just came across the phrase in a book by Alexander McCall Smith, leading me to think that it may have become an accepted idiom for many people.

These thoughts brought to mind Luis Marden, a writer and photographer on the magazine’s staff for more than 40 years (and who continued to contribute to the National Geographic for another 20 years after he retired), who always spoke as eloquently and correctly as he wrote. In an article about Luis, in the November 2000 National Geographic, author Cathy Newman wrote:

        Language, nuanced and precise, was sacred
        to him. To place a word gracefully in front
        of the reader was as important as the proper
        presentation of a fly to a discriminating trout.
        Almost the right word was unacceptable. Only
        the right word would do.

Luis corrected people who misused words, such as “raised” instead of “reared,” and those who used redundancies, such as “opening gambit.” He once pointed out to me that true mahogany grows only in the Western Hemisphere, and similar wood from other parts of the globe must be identified as African mahogany or Philippine mahogany, an explanation I immediately inserted as an entry in the National Geographic Style Manual.

I am positive Luis would not tolerate "close proximity."  After all, as he once told my predecessor Margaret Bledsoe, "If we keep talking this television English, the next step will be "temper tantrum."