Let’s skip the definition here and witness the word in action, so rarely do we get to do that with such perspicacity:
Our manager, Bristol,* ever-loving Bristol, easy-going Bristol (or so she would have you believe and, really, do I have any proof to say otherwise?), Bristol wanted to shake things up, play a little music as we worked.
Music of our choosing.
“What shall we play?” she asked cheerfully after her playlist had exhausted itself.
“Beyoncé,” answered Simone.
“O-K. Beyonce! What songs? Which album?”
“I heard, Beyonce.”
“I need you to give me an album, at least to start.”
“STOP SAYING BEYONCE!”
It took several long moments, in which nothing was said, in which nothing, (Beyoncé or otherwise) played, before Bristol, finally, blessedly caught up, got with it & realized.
“Oh. You mean – “
“Beyoncé: Beyoncé,” answered Simone.
As the music played and we four women (Bristol included) worked steadily away to Drunk in Love (feat. Jay Z), Tim, a report writer, stuck his head through the door and into our workspace.
“Wow. It’s like a sorority in here,” he said.
(Tim’s head: did I mention it was undersized?)
But Tim is another story:
Tim’s an asshole, the very definition.
* Not real names. No real names, not here, not today.