The Moisture Index (Moist)

Lyrics

[Intro]
In this classroom, at 2:30 PM,
78 degrees Fahrenheit, sticky air clinging.
A glass of water on the desk,
condensation beads sliding down its side.
That's moist. Let's defend it.

[Verse 1]
Paul H. Thibodeau, in PLOS ONE, 2016,
surveyed the aversion.
Moist ranks high, not just the sound,
/mɔɪst/, the open vowel, the sibilant end.
But associations: bodily functions, damp secrets.
He paired it with paradise,
and still, the dislike spiked.
Higher than with crevasse or slime.
The word carries its own weight,
independent of context.
Look at this glass, the droplets forming,
each one a tiny lens, refracting light.
That's moist, efficient, necessary.

[Chorus]
Moist is not the enemy.
It's the dew on morning grass,
the cake Mrs. Patterson left behind,
damp chocolate crumbling under fork.
Mark Liberman, Language Log, 2014,
said it's phonetics mixed with taboo.
We cringe, but why? Science says:
Semantic links to the unspoken.
Yet here, in this stuffy room,
with chalk dust and humidity,
I say moist aloud, clear and clinical.

[Verse 2]
Thibodeau's study: 500 participants,
rated moist more aversive with positive words.
Paradise moist, heaven moist,
still evoked the ick factor.
Not just sound, but what it evokes:
sweat, saliva, the hidden wet.
But consider the glass again,
condensation at 26 degrees Celsius,
water molecules condensing on cool surface.
Pure physics, no shame.
Mrs. Patterson stood, plate in hand,
then set it down, exited the door.
The room quieter now, but the word remains.

[Bridge]
If moist offends, blame the brain's wiring,
not the syllable. Liberman noted:
informal polls, moist always tops the list.
But in this schoolhouse on Point Nemo,
with the faint mustiness of old paper,
I chart it on the board: m-o-i-s-t.
No aversion here, just facts.

[Outro]
The glass sweats, the air thickens.
Moist endures, unapologetic.
Mrs. Patterson's cake waits, uneaten.
Class dismissed.