Bobdule

The town librarian, a sensible woman named Edna Quirk, grew concerned. She pulled out the colossal Oxford English Dictionary (Volume B, folio edition). She searched. She found “bob” (to move up and down), “bobber” (a float on a fishing line), and “bobstay” (a rope on a ship). But bobdule was nowhere. She checked the etymology supplements. Nothing. She even called the linguistics department at the distant city university. The professor there laughed. “Bobdule isn’t a word,” he said.

The mayor declared an emergency town meeting. Citizens filled the parish hall, stomping rain from their boots. “This word,” the mayor announced, “has no definition. And yet we all know what it means. Can anyone explain?” bobdule

It first appeared on a Tuesday. Mrs. Gimbel, the baker, was kneading her sourdough when she stopped, flour on her nose, and said to no one in particular: “This dough needs to bobdule a little longer.” Her apprentice blinked. “Bobdule?” “Yes,” said Mrs. Gimbel, as if it were the most obvious word in the world. “You know. Bobdule. Before the second rise.” The town librarian, a sensible woman named Edna

And from that day on, whenever anyone in Puddling Parva felt rushed, or sharp, or too certain, they would stop and say, “Let it bobdule a bit.” She found “bob” (to move up and down),

And yet, everyone in Puddling Parva kept using it.