Imagine you’re at a gathering, everyone’s circling the kitchen island, making small talk about the price of avocados, and suddenly someone blurts out “expresso” with the confidence of a spelling bee champ. Or maybe it's “sal-mon” with the L in full, glorious, misplaced effect. Instantly, you’re faced with a dilemma—do you gently correct them, pretend not to notice, or just raise your eyebrows so high they qualify for airspace?
A Guide to Butcher-Free English
English is a trap. It’s a language built on theft, borrowing words from German, French, and Latin, shaking them up in a bag, and spilling them out with spelling rules that make absolutely no sense. But we Americans have a special talent for taking perfectly good words and twisting them into phonetic pretzels. It’s not just a slip of the tongue; it’s practically a cultural pastime.
So, grab your reading glasses—I know you have them stashed in three different rooms just in case—and let’s walk through the 20 words we just can’t seem to get right.
1. Espresso
The Butcher Job: “Expresso”
Let’s start with the one that drives baristas to the brink of insanity. Somewhere along the line, we decided that because this tiny cup of coffee makes us feel fast, it needs an “x” in it. Like "express." I get the logic. You drink it, your heart rate hits 140, and you clean the entire garage in twenty minutes. It feels like an express train to productivity.
But there is no “x” in espresso. None. It’s Italian. It comes from the word strictly meaning "pressed out." It’s elegant. It’s sophisticated. Saying "expresso" sounds like you’re ordering a glittery dance move from the '80s. If you’re paying six dollars for bean water, the least you can do is pronounce it without sounding like a toddler asking for a cookie.
2. Nuclear
The Butcher Job: “Nucular”
Ah, the "nucular" option. This one has been codified by presidents, action movie stars, and probably your uncle at Thanksgiving. It’s amazing how a word that describes the most terrifying force on the planet gets treated like a chew toy.
The word is nu-cle-ar. Like the nucleus of a cell. But somehow, we swap the vowels around until it sounds like a new brand of cooler you buy at Costco. "Nucular" sounds less like a scientific phenomenon and more like a Batman villain. Why is this so hard? Is the “cle-ar” sound too precise? Do we just prefer the lazy, rolling stumble of "cular"? Stop it. We are grown adults. We have mortgages. We can say nuclear.
3. Sherbet
The Butcher Job: “Sherbert”
Here is a classic case of the Phantom R. Where did it come from? Why is it there? Nobody knows. But ask ten people what that pastel-colored, sugary ice-cream-adjacent dessert is called, and nine of them will confidently tell you it’s “sherbert.”
Look at the carton. Really look at it. S-H-E-R-B-E-T. There is only one “r” in that word. Just one. It’s not "Herbert." It’s not your neighbor who borrows your lawnmower and never returns it. It’s sherbet. But apparently, we Americans looked at this Turkish-derived word and thought, “You know what this needs? More growling noises.”
4. Salmon
The Butcher Job: “Sal-mon”
The "L" is silent. It’s a ghost letter. It’s there for decoration, like those pillows on your bed that you aren’t allowed to sleep on. You don’t pronounce the “L” in walk. You don’t pronounce it in talk. So why, when faced with a pink fish, do we suddenly decide to articulate every single letter like we’re competing in a spelling bee?
Saying "sal-mon" makes you sound like you’re casting a spell. It’s unnatural. It’s jarring. It’s the linguistic equivalent of wearing socks with sandals. Just let the “L” go. Release it. It doesn’t want to be heard.
5. Often
The Butcher Job: To T or Not to T?
This is the Civil War of pronunciation. Half the country says "off-en." The other half says "off-ten." And unlike most of the words on this list, both sides are convinced the other is uneducated swine.
Historically, the “t” was silent. Think of it like "listen" or "glisten." You don’t say "list-en," do you? (Please tell me you don’t.) But somewhere in the 19th century, people started reading more and thought, “Hey, there’s a T there! I paid for the whole alphabet, I’m going to use it.” Now, pronouncing the “t” is considered acceptable, but let’s be real: it sounds fussy. It sounds like you wear a monocle. Just say "off-en." Keep it casual.
6. February
The Butcher Job: “Feb-you-ary”
Let’s be honest: the Gregorian calendar is a mess, and February is its crowning achievement of failure. It’s too short, the weather is terrible, and nobody can pronounce it.
The first “r” gets completely abandoned. We treat it like a middle child. "Feb-ru-ary." Two Rs. But your mouth has to do weird gymnastics to make that sound happen. It feels like you have peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth. So, collectively, we gave up. We decided "Feb-you-ary" was close enough. It’s lazy, sure. But at my age, if I can save energy on a consonant, I’m going to do it.
7. Coupon
The Butcher Job: “Q-pon” vs. “Coo-pon”
Is it a "coo-pon"? Or is it a "kyoo-pon"? This divides households. "Kyoo-pon" makes it sound fancy, like a "cubic" discount. "Coo-pon" sounds like something a pigeon would say.
Technically, both are accepted now because dictionaries eventually just give up and let the mob win. But let’s look at the root. It’s French (again, sorry). Couper, meaning to cut. Do you say "Kyoo-t" when you cut something? No. So "coo-pon" wins on logic, but "kyoo-pon" wins on sass. Pick your battle, but know that if you say "kyoo-pon" while handing over a 50-cent discount for detergent, you sound a little ambitious.
8. Mischievous
The Butcher Job: “Mis-chee-vee-us”
This is the one that proves we are all just making it up as we go along. Somewhere, somehow, we decided this word needed four syllables. We added an “i” that doesn’t exist.
Look at the spelling: Mis-chiev-ous. Three syllables. End of story. There is no "ee" sound after the "v." But "mis-chee-vee-us" sounds so much more… well, mischievous. It sounds like a cartoon villain twirling a mustache. The correct pronunciation, "mis-chiv-us," sounds clipped and boring. I almost forgive this one because the wrong way is just more fun to say. Almost.
9. Library
The Butcher Job: “Lie-berry”
Unless you are picking fruit that tells falsehoods, there is no such thing as a "lie-berry."
This is pure laziness. We see two Rs in close proximity and our tongues just go on strike. "I’m not doing that twice," your mouth says. So the first R gets turned into a vowel or deleted entirely. It’s ironic that a place dedicated to literacy is the victim of such illiterate pronunciation. If you tell me you’re going to the "lie-berry," I assume you are going to eat jam, not check out a book.
10. Pronunciation
The Butcher Job: “Pro-nounce-iation”
Irony is dead, and we killed it with this word. The verb is pronounce. The noun is pronunciation. The “o” in the middle disappears. It drops out.
But our brains like patterns. We think, “I pronounce things, therefore I am working on my pro-nounce-iation.” Wrong. It’s pro-nun-ciation. It rhymes with "nun." Yet, hearing someone butcher the word pronunciation while lecturing you on pronunciation is a special kind of hell. It’s like a dentist with bad teeth telling you to floss.
11. Comfortable
The Butcher Job: “Comfterble”
Look at that word. Com-fort-a-ble. Four syllables. It’s a mouthful. And Americans hate mouthfuls unless it’s a cheeseburger.
So, we put this word through a trash compactor. We smash the middle letters until they turn into mush. The "o-r-t" gets rearranged into "f-t-r." It becomes "comf-ter-ble." Sometimes even just "comf-ter-bul." Honestly? I support this one. If you’re truly comfortable, you shouldn’t have to work hard to say the word. You should be able to slur it out from under a weighted blanket. Precision requires effort, and effort is the enemy of comfort.
12. Specific
The Butcher Job: “Pacific”
"Could you be more pacific?" No, I cannot be an ocean. I can be specific, however.
This is the verbal tic of people who talk faster than they think. S-P. It’s a distinctive sound. But the “s” gets swallowed, and suddenly we are discussing geography instead of details. This is usually the same person who says "supposably" (we’ll get there). If you ask me to be "pacific," I’m going to assume you want me to be deep, cold, and full of plastic waste.
13. Et Cetera
The Butcher Job: “Ek-setra”
It’s Latin. Et means "and." Cetera means "the rest." Et cetera.
So why—WHY—do people say "ek-setra"? There is no K! It’s not "eck." It’s "et." This is likely because "x" and "etc" get jumbled in our brains, or maybe because "ek" feels more forceful. But every time you say "ek-setra," a Latin teacher somewhere drops their chalk and weeps. It’s a small tragedy. Don’t be the cause of a teacher’s tears.
14. Supposedly
The Butcher Job: “Supposably”
Supposably is technically a word, meaning "capable of being supposed." But that is almost never what you mean. You mean supposedly, as in "allegedly" or "according to rumor."
"Did you hear? Jerry is supposably getting a divorce." No, Jerry is supposedly getting a divorce. Unless you mean it is theoretically possible to suppose Jerry’s divorce, in which case, you are having a very weird philosophical conversation. The "b" makes you sound stuffed up, like you have a head cold. Clear your sinuses and hit the "d." Supposedly.
15. Jewelry
The Butcher Job: “Jool-ree”
This is another case of syllable theft. The word is jew-el-ry. Three syllables. It comes from "jewel."
But "jewel-ry" takes time. It requires you to move your jaw twice. So we condense it. "Jool-ree." It sounds cheaper, doesn’t it? "Jewelry" sounds like diamonds and platinum. "Jool-ree" sounds like plastic beads you bought at a craft fair. If you want the good stuff, pronounce all the syllables. It adds value.
16. Worcestershire
The Butcher Job: “War-chester-shyer,” “Rooster-sheer,” “Wooster-shur”
To be fair, the British did this to us on purpose. They looked at a map, threw a handful of Scrabble tiles on the floor, and said, "Let's call this town Worcestershire."
If you read it phonetically, it looks like "War-cess-ter-shire." But that is wrong. So, so wrong. The correct pronunciation is roughly "Wooster-sheer." Or "Wuss-ter-shur." The "rce" and "ste" just… melt. It’s a linguistic black hole. Honestly, if you just point at the bottle and say, "Pass the black sauce," nobody will blame you. We’ve all given up on this one. It’s the sauce that shall not be named.
17. Athlete
The Butcher Job: “Ath-uh-lete”
Why add a syllable? Is the athlete not working hard enough? Do we need to give the word a little extra cardio?
It’s ath-lete. Two syllables. Crisp. Efficient. Like the people it describes. But somehow, it becomes "ath-uh-lete." It sounds plodding. It sounds like someone trying to run in combat boots. "My son is a great ath-uh-lete." No, your son plays JV soccer and eats orange slices. Let’s not prolong the sentence.
18. Realtor
The Butcher Job: “Real-a-tor”
This is the "athlete" problem in reverse. Or sideways. We insert a vowel between the "l" and the "t." Real-a-tor.
It’s Real-tor. Like "real" estate. Two syllables. Real estate agents hate this. They spend thousands of dollars on headshots where they lean casually against a brick wall, and then you call them a "Real-a-tor." It sounds like a dinosaur. The fearsome Realator stalks its prey through the open house buffet. Just say "Realtor." They work on commission; don’t make them work for the pronunciation too.
19. Height
The Butcher Job: “Heighth”
We have width. We have breadth. We have length. So, logically, our brains think, "It must be heighth!"
It is not. It is height. It ends in a hard T. There is no "th" at the end. When you say "heighth," you sound like you have a lisp. It’s understandable why we do it—English patterns are seductive—but it’s wrong. It’s a trap set by the other measurements to make height look stupid. Don’t fall for it.
20. Chaise
The Butcher Job: “Chase” (specifically in "Chaise Lounge")
We see a fancy long chair. We think, "It’s a lounge. I lounge in it. It is a chaise lounge."
Actually, it’s a chaise longue. That’s French for "long chair." But "longue" looks like "lounge" if you’ve had enough wine, so we Americans just swapped the letters. And then we looked at "chaise" and said, "That looks like chase." So now it’s a "chase lounge."
We took a French phrase, misspelled half of it, and mispronounced the other half. It is the ultimate American linguistic power move. We conquered the furniture. If you say "shez long," people will think you are pretentious. If you say "chase lounge," you are wrong, but you are patriotically wrong.
