Words that differ by only one letter quickly cause irritation when they are used incorrectly, as was the case recently in an advertisement. The same applies to euphemisms like the abortion princess.
grand
About an ad in Straubinger daily newspaper a seller offered an old “water grant” for 2500 euros. That was perfectly fine, except for one detail that immediately enraged one reader. He remarked that one could “get a grant for this nonsense, and that in the local newspaper”. What the seller wanted to get rid of was a Wassergran, which in contrast to the Grant is written with a soft d. A grand is a stone container that collects rainwater from the gutter. On farms, well or spring water often flows through a Grand, clear and freezing cold. In the past, when there were no bathrooms, people used to wash themselves there.
The grant, on the other hand, is an expression of a bad mood that has taken on such a special form in Bavaria over time that instructive books have even been written about it. Incidentally, the small version of the Grand is the Grandl, as it used to be often embedded in the wood-fired oven in the Kuchl so that the service water could be heated quickly there. In addition, the Grandl occasionally appears in the phrase “to have the Grandl full”. If someone has drunk too much, then experts say briefly and succinctly: “He’s got it full!” When a noise ball once returned from the inn and the grandl was full, it easily triggered a grant from the wife.
privy princess
On Bavarian television, an elderly gentleman recently slandered all those who let themselves be carried away into buying hamsters in times of crisis. He complained that it was idiotic that people were frantically buying cooking oil or, as at the beginning of the pandemic, toilet paper. It was interesting that he used the old-fashioned word toilet paper instead of the common term toilet paper. With increasing sanitation, the abortion has slowly disappeared from everyday language. In the TV series “Police Inspection 1” the head of inspection Schöninger (Walter Sedlmayr) said quite naturally to his colleague Moosgruber (Max Grießer) in 1982: “You, close the toilet door!”
As the diary of entrepreneur Maria Walser reveals, in Munich around 1890 people spoke of the closette when there was a separate water reservoir for the toilet. At that time, wealthy houses began to convert more and more toilets, i.e. the dry outhouses, into closettes. Fifty years ago, narrow wooden houses served as toilets in the villages. They were often placed on the edge of the dung heap and were called Scheisshäusl. A rough word, but one that the poet prince Goethe also used. In order to visit the little house, one had to go outside in any weather. All the happier were those who had a privy built into the house, without flushing, but with a brick or concrete pit.
According to Duden, the word abort comes from Low German and designates a remote room for defecating. The women who keep public toilets clean and collect the entrance fee were once called privy princesses. A euphemism that disguises the realism of this job pretty well.