Sometimes there can be a certain charm to being vaguely naive. Though I am amazed by such breakthroughs as talking cars, wireless phones, and computers that no longer rival the size of a vintage Buick, there is, at least for me, a particular sense of pride over not having a clue as to how they work. It helps living on an island five miles out to sea.

It’s very easy to live here and not know a lot of trendy things. We are delightfully behind the times at times. I like that we can have a full and blissful existence and not be able to name a single TV Survivor. But there can be disadvantages to falling behind, especially in the realm of lingo, if, in fact, “lingo” is still part of hep-cat terminology – and if, in fact, there are still such things as hep cats.

I recently stumbled, rather publicly, over the evolution and translation of an older term. While waiting at the pharmacy for a prescription to be filled, I spied a display of those nasty, rubber shower sandals in the beach-and-bath section. In a quasi-enthusiastic effort to pass the time by bantering with two of the pharmacist’s attractive, young assistants, I nodded toward the footwear, actually a bit surprised to see them still in use, and asked the maidens: “Do you wear these thongs?” I added, “I can’t stand them,” and, for punctuation, “The things hurt me. I think they’re actually painful.”

The eye contact went on a second too long, so I wondered if I had been clear. “Do you,” I asked, making sure that they knew I was addressing both of them, “wear those thong things?” They nodded yes, that they did wear them, so on a supplementary, cordial note, I added: “They probably look great on you, but I can’t stand them.”

One of them offered what I thought was a curious response: she had no idea men ever wore them. “What, don’t they think men have feet?” I thought. They looked at me in a way that counter people sometimes do in summer. I paid for my items and went on my way.

The following day, I invited two young friends to take in the sun from the foredeck of my boat, and told them to wear their bathing suits. I said to Martinka that if she did bring her suit to make sure it had a seat in it, for I favor more traditional women’s swimwear. “I can’t wear my thong?” she asked in a rush of innocent surprise.

It took a moment to grasp what she had meant. And then I realized what the pharmacy girls must have thought I meant. Gulp. Back in my era – back when Moses was prom king and Noah kept a single pair of ducks – those gouging items of footwear, which I’m told kids today call flip-flops, were called thong sandals, or just thongs. I guess there’s a new meaning for the word, but I shall attempt to leave it out of further conversation.