But so women secretly hate men—hate their childishness, their superiority, their insanity and their blindness.
“Just like a woman!” So do men voice their varm.
Your wife’s bureau drawers are varmic. So is a tea-room, or a woman’s club, or a co-educational college, or the ladies’ dressing room of a fashionable restaurant. (See Spigg.)
Smoking tobacco is no longer varmic. (See Ovotch.)
How would you like to see your husband at a prize fight? There varm is violent.
I hate a girl—but my Hortense
Is not the average woman;
She has more brains, she has more sense—
In fact, she’s almost human.
Or, so I thought, until, one day,
She lost that previous charm,
I overheard her talk with May—
Hortense was but a varm!
Vilp, n. 1. A bad loser, an unsportsmanlike player. 2. A gloating victor, or one who is intoxicated by success.
Vil´pous, a. Unscrupulous, cheating in games.
The vilp is always explaining why he lost the game and usually blaming the fault upon someone else—he “usually plays a much better game” than the one you see. This time, it is only because he has the rheumatism, or didn’t get any sleep last night. (See Slub.)