Now there's one for you: aplenty.
Watch out for the person who uses the word aplenty. He is trying to be cute -- too cute if you ask me. A round, bald-headed man with a gray beard, a loose-fitting blouse and cheeks that are too-healty-pink, speading his arms in a jovial, ceremonial gesture while he leads you to his dinner table as if he were welcoming you to a damn Rennaissance Fayre. Arching his back and casting his eyes intently toward the ceiling. "I bid you welcome to our feast. We have meat and bread and wine aplenty! Pray, sit with us and partake."
He is quick to ask that you not feed his Shi-tzu from the table, despite the begging; lamb is not good for her. The music from Masterpiece Theatre, the only vaguely ceremonial-sounding track he owns, is playing too loudly. There are no forks on the table. "Are not your hands clean enough?"
No, ixnay aplenty.
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