I lisped as a child. One of my most vivid memories of elementary school—aside from falling off the monkey bars and landing face first in the dirt—is of standing in line in class while some other kids asked me to recite the classic “she sells seashells” tongue-twister. I complied, and they giggled.  They asked me to do it again.  I did, and they giggled some more.  Since to my ear, the phrase sounded perfectly fine, I thought that I just had naturally hilarious delivery. I could even make seashells funny. I was a comic genius. Continue reading Haunted by Sibilants