Last night, around 1AM, unable to sleep, I was paging through the iPhone’s extensive collection of applications, when I came across the Shorter Oxford English Dictionary app. If you’re a word nerd, you know that the OED is the holy grail of English dictionaries. And if you’re an OED nerd, you know that the Shorter edition, a two-volume abridgment of the 20-volume mother tome, is the most practical one to own.

Now despite the fact that I already own the complete 20-volume edition (in one volume, laid out in microtype—you need a special magnifying glass to use it), I went ahead and spent the $50 and purchased the app. Immediately filled with remorse, I proceeded to spend the next hour on a long and convoluted word quest to try to make myself feel like it was worth it. I’m happy to say that it was. Below are the fruits of my late night labor.

I recalled that when I wrote an article for Culture11, the original version used the word “a-titter” in the opening sentence. The editors chose to change that to “atwitter”, which—though it grated on my ear due to the recent rise of Twitter—didn’t significantly alter what I was getting at. Now, many months later, I decided to have a look at the etymology of “titter”. Was it related to “tit” at all? And what’s the deal with “tit” anyway?

“Titter”, the verb, in its first and most common definition (“giggle”), has an onomatopoetic origin, and is in no way related to any other word. The second definition, the intransitive form, which I was perhaps only vaguely aware of, is as a synonym for “teeter”, and it comes from the Old Norse “titra”, for “shake , shiver”. (No relation to the chemical process of “titration”, however.)

There are, however, two nounal forms of “titter”. The first is obvious, related to the first transitive verb definition: “a stifled laugh”. The second, however, is genuinely surprising: “A young woman, a girl.” It’s an early 19th century slang term of uncertain origin. The OED suggests it’s related to the first and fourth forms of “tit”.

The first definition of “tit” is that of “teat”, suggesting that the slang use of “titter” is lewd. (‘Ave a look at that titter, guvna!’ slurred the vagabond whilst rubbing himself through his breeches.) The fourth, however, is related to small creatures: stunted horses, girls, and birds. The bird thing was familiar; older English novels often make reference to variants of “tit”—from “blue tits” to “willow tits” to “marsh tits”—all “small active passerine birds of the genus Parus or the family Paridae.” “Titmouse” comes from this same root, something I had always wondered but never thought to look up.

At this point, my eyelids were getting heavy. I felt like at least ten of the fifty dollars of my purchase were justified. Four more nights like these, and the dictionary will have paid for itself! But as I was drifting off to sleep largely satisfied, I decided for one final sally into word land. For comparison’s sake, I opened my copy of the American Heritage Dictionary to have a look at how it dealt with “tit”.

What a marked difference in tone! The information is largely the same, but the difference in presentation couldn’t be more striking. The OED is scholarly, nerdy, obsessive, even a little messy. The American Heritage is authoritative, utilitarian, somewhat dull, and even a little prudish. Consider the following “Regional Note”, included in the “tit” listing:

Tit is an old Germanic word for “small” and is used in various northern European languages to refer to small objects, animals, or people, especially girls—for example, titta is a Norwegian dialect word for “little girl.” The word is most common in American English in combinations that denote various small birds, such as the titmouse or tomtit. A titman in the 19th century could mean a small or stunted person, as Henry David Thoreau indicates when he calls his generation “a race of tit-men.” Tit and titman are still used in New England, mostly by farmers to refer to the runt of a litter of pigs.

I can only imagine the above paragraph being written in order to silence the immature tittering of twits like myself upon encountering any of the above words. Nevertheless, I’m eternally grateful to the American Heritage people for the Thoreau quote, which I will now bring up in conversation incessantly.

Quite amusing.