Here are some words I do not care for. Words that I can't give a fair shake.
Onus, peccadillo, hausfrau, Amanpour, chromatids, tantamount, quesadilla, parsimonious, subterfuge, uber, fractious, qualms, schadenfreude, obfuscate, bloviate, ogle, titmouse, promulgate, giblets, putrid, harridan, brooch, milquetoast, clabber, junket, thesaurus.
I don't like the looks of them. Nor do I like their sound. Which is not to say that I would never use them.
Other words please me. I overuse them. I try to find convoluted reasons to include them even more.
Sternocleidomastoid, shenanigans, usurp, faux pas, nefarious, flibbertigibbet, ruse, curmudgeon.
That second list seems short. I can never summon up the word I want when I want it. I have to stop thinking so hard, move on to something else, let it blindside me.
Here is one phrase the sets my teeth on edge: "Beyond the pale." It has nothing to do with shades of hue. But that is how I think most people use it.
Let's retire this saying. Grab it a hand-crocheted shawl, put neon-green tennis balls on the feet of its walker, pour it a hot toddy and place it on the end table upon a lace doily, set the TV to a marathon of Murder She Wrote, order it a Jitterbug telephone, and crank up the thermostat to 80 degrees. Mission accomplished. "Beyond the pale" is officially out to pasture.
Cranky old curmudgeon, ain't I?