I have always loved malapropisms.

A malapropism is the unintended use of a similar-sounding but distinctly different word in a given situation, usually leading to confusion seasoned with hilarity.

Next to puns, malapropisms are one of my favorite twists on this beloved English language of ours.

I love them as much as I cherish the memory of Yogi Berra, the master of malapropisms. Berra, a Hall of Fame catcher for the New York Yankees in the 1940s and 1950s, coined malapropisms by the bushelful. Here is just one of his examples: “A nickel ain’t worth a dime any more.” There are entire small booklets of Berra-isms out there for those who want more.

These days, I am creating my own malapropisms.

To do so, I do not use my voice. I use my ears, or, rather, I misuse what is left of my ability to hear.

My external ears are still hanging onto the sides of my head in much the same fashion as they always have done. It is the internal ears that have aged, stiffened, dulled, distorted.

“Watttt?” rejoinders are spoken by me often enough to have lit up Thomas Edison’s entire life.

Yes, yes. Edison worked with “watts,” not with “Wattt?” I say “Wattt?” Light bulbs use watts.

If either word is spoken within range of my left ear, I am quite likely to hear the other one — or something entirely different.

You say “watt.” Maybe I hear “hut.”

My right ear is not yet that deficient. I can still make sense out of most telephone conversations if I hold a phone tightly against my ear.

But Bluetooth hands-free conversations in my car or pickup truck can go haywire at the drop of a decibel.

My wife suffers through many of these malapropisms.

She says, “Don’t talk toward his left ear.” I respond, “Whaddaya mean, I left my beer?”

She says, “He weighed in.” I respond, transposing the phrase into a question, asking, “She waved in? Who waved? Who was she waving at?”

Sometimes, I can stop an entire conversation with such an abrupt non sequitur, leaving my wife to walk away, sadly shaking her head.

Now, there are times when I am delighted that my wife stops the conversation, especially when she clearly intended to add to my “honey, do this” list.

But at other times, I genuinely want to continue the conversation, if only I could respond in the same vein as she speaks.

She said, “What are the symptoms?” while we discussed a medical problem with a family member.

I heard, “What are the Simpsons?”

Naturally, she was miffed when I patronizingly replied, “The Simpsons are cartoon characters on TV. Everybody knows that.”

She muttered something in response.

Now, remember, I cannot hear well. So I am probably wrong when I thought that what she muttered was, “Everybody knows you are deaf as a post.”

Even messages spoken loudly from one room to another get garbled.

“Chicken salad and walking,” I heard.

“Taking a shower and walking,” she had said.

I did not endear myself to her by responding that 8 a.m. was a bit early for lunch.

She said, “The sheets on the bed are clean.” I heard “The cheese on the red is green.”

When I am writing these columns, I often repeat aloud the phrase that I am typing, just to see how it sounds.

She passed behind my chair en route to another room.

“Thinking out loud again,” she observed.

“Things are not round again?” I shot back.

“Whaddaya mean, things are not round? You are distracting me. I am trying to work here. I am writing important words. People look forward to reading these words, and then you go and break — no, shatter — my train of thought with ‘Things are not round’!”

By that time, of course, she is long gone, her arms thrown up past her shoulders.

The odd thing is that, while I usually cannot hear too well, I sometimes pick up what she says perfectly, even if she is walking away from me.

“Hopeless,” she often says.

Makes me feel sad, that she feels so despondent about herself. Of course, she would never say, “Hopeless,” with respect to me. She loves me — right?

I do admit that, whenever we clear up the confusion I have unintentionally created by mishearing, my wife and I do get a good chuckle out of the exchange on occasion.

I am not alone, and some other folks cannot even blame hearing loss.

“It will take time to restore chaos and order.” — Former President George W. Bush.

“Buy one of them battery operated transvestite radios.” — The Archie Bunker character from the “All in the Family” TV show.

“The police are not here to create disorder. They are here to preserve disorder.” — Richard Daley, former mayor of Chicago.

Did you enjoy those? Would you like to hear more?

Just strike up a conversation with me, speaking toward my left beer.

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Denny Bonavita is a former editor at newspapers in DuBois and Warren. He lives near Brookville. Email: denny2319@windstream.net.