Word for the day: pashing

An English-speaking American living in English-speaking Australia gets the chance to learn a lot of new words. Today I learned “pashing.” I encountered it for the first time ever in the book review section of the most recent “The Weekend Australian.”

A literary critic named Stella Clark began her review of two novels by saying, “Spontaneous sex-change may be less alarming today than a man pashing his mother but many of us would, presumably, have trouble empathising with either sensation.”

Word usage here, for the non-native, requires some caution.

Despite the fact that there is a street not far from where we live called “Fanny Street” (and no others in all of Greater Brisbane), I have learned since moving here that one should not say, in polite company, f—y because f—y is a slang term for a very private part of human bodies that are female.

In addition, I have learned that “root” is, according to my Australian dictionary, a “course colloquialism” for an act of sexual intercourse. Not surprising, perhaps, but new to my ears, just as “pashing his mother” was new to my eyes when I read it this morning.

I suspected the worst, of course, even before I read further and saw Stella Clark’s reference to Sigmund Freud’s belief that beneath the surface we are all “lusting after mum, after death, after everything but what should reasonably be the case.” So, “pashing” one’s mother was sounding worse and worse.

My dictionary, though, offered only two not-so-bad definitions. A pash is an infatuation, a crush. That’s the noun form. And to pash is “to kiss and cuddle,” which might involve lascivious intent, but wouldn’t necessarily have to.

Ahh, but then the dictionary revealed a fact that shows how the expansion of the English language here is often rooted (pardon the term) in contraction, in the shortening of words. Pash, I read, is an abbreviation of “passion.” So it appears that giving dear old mum a hug and a peck on the cheek would not be thought of as pashing.

I’m glad to get that figured out, although I was in no danger of using “pashing” inappropriately since I didn’t know it existed and, therefore, would never have spoken it at all. My word lesson for this day wasn’t as significant for my life down under as my earlier lesson about speaking of “my bum bag,” not my f—y pack.

I have no idea, by the way, what “spontaneous sex-change” might be. I don’t think I even care. I am curious, though, about what it’s like to live on Fanny Street in Annerley. — Bob