'Such a Pimping, Mean, Detestable Hand'

A graphologist once described my handwriting as “bulbous,” a polite way of saying “illegible.” I write like a backward child. With the onset of arthritis my penmanship has grown ever more inelegant and cryptic. A guy delivered a new washer and dryer to the house on Monday, and I knew what was coming. He set the invoice on the dryer lid and marked where I was to sign with two X’s. I’ve never taken the minimalist route favored by doctor’s writing prescriptions – a raffishly wavy or spiraling line like the one traced by Corporal Trim with his walking stick. I genuinely try to write my name and make it legible, but it always turns into a spasmodic sine wave. The delivery man squinted at the signatures, looked at me and nodded.

In April 1824, Charles Lamb writes to Sarah Hutchinson, Wordsworth’s sister-in-law. He explains that his sister Mary has “an invincible reluctance to any epistolary exertion,” and he is sparing her a “mortification”:

“The plain truth is, she writes such a pimping, mean, detestable hand that she is ashamed of the formation of her letters. There is an essential poverty and abjectness in the frame of them.”

Lamb compares the product of his sister’s penmanship to a corkscrew, and I know precisely what he means. What I didn’t understand was “pimping.” It seemed unlikely that Mary Lamb was a procuress. Back to the OED: “insignificant, paltry, petty. Also: in poor health or condition, sickly.” Sterne had used it in Tristram Shandy: “To go sneaking on at this pitiful—pimping—pettifogging rate.” The Dictionary is humble enough to admit “origin unknown” and that “there is probably no connection with pimp n.”