flibbertigibbet

This is one of those words that sounds as if it learned to walk by tiptoeing through a sewing basket. Most scholars think it’s pure sound-symbolism — a comic tumble of syllables meant to mimic fast, silly chatter — though an old alternative links it to flibbergib, a word for a toady or chatterbox with a possible Old Norse backstory. The second half, gib, is extra delicious: in medieval English it could be a cat-name, short for Gilbert, so the whole thing feels like a gossip with feline energy. By the early 1600s it was even being used for a devil or imp, rubbing shoulders with theatrical fiends like Frateretto and Hoberdidance. It’s the kind of word that looks as if it escaped from a Jacobean stage and landed in a schoolroom whispering all the way.