I enjoy words. I enjoy looking up words and learning synonyms and antonyms. I enjoy reading honest-to-god definitions of words and finding out their true meaning. Or their meaning so far as Webster is concerned. My love of words. My logophilia even became a contention point is a past relationship. After the fact of course. Because most people are afraid to actually talk about things. It's easier to list peeves and annoyances when you're done, rather than when you're during. The accusation: I hid behind my big words. My emotions. Wrapped up in the tidy bow of an abstruse word. Bah. Such an accusation transforms me into a relational Bobby Fischer. One that can see 9 moves ahead into the couplehood. One that has accounted for and can counter every attack with a neat package of dizzying vocabulary. Bah. That would require more work than most relationships are worth. Unless I kept a stash of words. A cache of verbal obfuscation. Primed and ready to unleash at the slightest slight of devotion. Must hide feelings. Grrr. Me no care, me Solomon Grundy. Me want you shut up. It's difficult to have a conversation when half of the couple never talks. And when half of the couple never talks it usually leads the other half to be a little awkward and use large words. When half of the couple never talks the conversation becomes monologue, and when the conversation becomes monologue big words are sure to arise. Monologues lend themselves to big words and big ideas. That's where the meat of the play lies. Or maybe she simply wasn't very bright.