To Americans, French toast is a buttery, golden-brown stack of custardy bread, often smothered in syrup and served up for breakfast at diners across the country. But to the French, this foodstuff is known by an entirely different moniker. What Americans call “French toast,” the French call pain perdu — a name that translates to “lost bread.”

The origins of the dish can be traced to the ancient Romans, who had a recipe for aliter dulcia (roughly translated as “another sweet dish”). It involved taking bits of crusty or stale bread, soaking them in milk, frying them in olive oil, and then covering them with honey. This culinary technique was passed down throughout centuries, leading to the creation of pain perdu in France around the 15th century. The dish was a way for the French to revive stale (“lost”) bread instead of throwing it out, as the moisture from the milk, oil, and honey gave it new life.

In 1660, English chef Robert May — who studied in France — adapted this recipe for his cookbook The Accomplisht Cook, calling it “French Toasts.” The recipe came to America sometime during the next two centuries, though exactly when is unclear. According to The Dictionary of American Food and Drink (1983), the earliest recipe to include eggs — as is traditional today — wasn’t printed until 1870.

But “French toast” and pain perdu aren’t the only names for this dish. It’s called pain doré (“golden bread”) in French parts of Canada, and in Spain, it’s known as torriga, which comes from the verb torrar, meaning “to toast.” Sometimes the English also call the dish “poor knights of Windsor” — a colloquialism that refers to a 14th-century order of knights who were purportedly so poor, they could only afford to eat fried bread.

Some objects bear names so blatantly obvious that there is no room for confusion — think of pancakes, hairbrushes, and fireplaces. But other names aren’t as precise. In grammar, when something has an incorrect or inappropriate name, that name is a misnomer. The word “misnomer” itself is very literal — it comes from the Old French mesnomer, with mes meaning “wrongly” and nomer meaning “to name.”

Misnomers arise for many reasons. Some might reflect outdated practices, such as tinfoil, which was initially made of tin but is now aluminum. Others arise from superficial features, as in the case of a koala bear, an animal that looks and acts like a bear but is actually a marsupial. Misnomers are all around us, found in everyday objects, food, animals, places, and more. 

Despite their name, jellyfish aren’t fish. They belong to the phylum Cnidaria, along with sea anemones and corals. “Jellyfish” dates to the early 19th century, when “fish” was used broadly to refer to any type of sea creature. This vague use of “fish” is still widely used today, as seen in another misnomer with a similar origin: “starfish.” Starfish are echinoderms, not fish. True fish have backbones, gills, and fins — all absent in both starfish and jellyfish. The “jelly” part of the latter is accurate, though, tracing back to a 14th-century English word for gelatinous foods. Today, marine educators often prefer the term “sea jelly” for accuracy.

Peanuts are legumes in the pea family, Fabaceae, and they are grown for their edible seeds. While this connection drives the beginning of the name, the back half is deceiving. Botanically, peanuts are not nuts at all, though the name comes from their similarities to true nuts such as chestnuts and hazelnuts — specifically, their hard outer shells and crunchy, nutlike texture and taste.

“Peanut” originated in the early 19th century, around the time that the plant’s cultivation became common in the United States. Before becoming popular in the U.S., peanuts were called “ground nuts” (another misnomer) in England. In the southern U.S., “goober,” the dialectical term for peanuts, comes from the Kimbundu word for the plant, “ŋguba.” The name was introduced by enslaved people in the South.

An Arabic numeral is any of the number symbols 0 through 9. Despite being labeled “Arabic,” the numerals originated in India during the sixth or seventh century. Later, during the 12th century, they were introduced to Europe through the writings of Middle Eastern mathematicians, from whom they took their name. By the mid-18th century, the name “Arabic numeral” was firmly established in English.

Because of this mix-up, a more precise name, “Hindu-Arabic numerals,” is preferred by some. It acknowledges the work of Indian scholars without diminishing the efforts of Middle Eastern mathematicians who popularized the numbers.

Contrary to its name, dry cleaning isn’t dry. Consider its definition: “the cleansing of fabrics with substantially nonaqueous organic solvents.” While “nonaqueous” means “without water,” other liquids are used during the process. The textiles are cleaned with chemical solvents, allowing for stain removal without water damage. The term “dry cleaning” emerged during the mid-19th century (when the process was invented) as a way to differentiate it from traditional water-based cleaning.

Greenland may just have the most misleading geographical name in the world. More than 80% of the North Atlantic island country is covered in ice — hardly a verdant landscape. But during the summer of 982 CE, when Viking Erik the Red first landed on the isle, it was greener than it is today, according to fossil records. Therefore, in keeping with the Viking tradition of naming a place after how they perceived it, he called it “Greenland.” By the 14th century, however, temperatures on the island cooled, and the landscape became much snowier and was surrounded by sea ice, making its name a misnomer.

It’s a common misconception that the country names for Greenland and Iceland were switched to confuse settlers. In reality, settlers named Iceland for its many glaciers and cold winters. In fact, 11% of the country is still covered with a permanent ice cap. So, while Iceland isn’t much of a misnomer, Greenland certainly is.

It’s no laughing matter to hit that spot on the back of the elbow that sends a jolt of pain up the arm. We know that spot as the funny bone, but the pain is caused by hitting a nerve, not a bone. The ulnar nerve runs down the back of the arm, and at the elbow joint, it rests near the humerus. When it’s bumped, it gets compressed, sending a tingling sensation down the arm.

The term first emerged in English during the early 19th century. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, its early usage might also be a pun on the name of the upper arm bone, humerus, and the word “humorous.”

No, we aren’t writing with sticks of toxic lead. This misnomer is one of the most enduring, stemming from a 16th-century misunderstanding in England, where graphite was discovered. The discovery predated modern methods for determining chemical composition, so it wasn’t yet named “graphite.”

Sheep farmers began marking their herds with it, deciding it was an excellent writing tool. Its deep color looked a lot like lead, so some called it “plumbago” (the Latin for “lead” is plumbus), while others called it “black lead.” The latter stuck. The sticks were wrapped in string or sheepskin to facilitate writing, and by the late 18th century, the name “graphite” (from the Greek graphein, meaning “to write”) was introduced to distinguish it from real lead. Today, modern pencils are made with a mix of graphite and clay. 

“Argument” and “fight” can be treated as synonyms, but each word carries distinct tones. In Ian McEwan’s World War II novel, Atonement, for instance, “argument” appears in moments of urgency without implying hostility: “They were right in its path and there was no time for argument.” By contrast, McEwan uses “fight” signals aggression or conflict, as in, “No will to fight for their own country.” Throughout the novel, “argument” conveys disagreement in pursuit of a solution, while “fight” suggests hostility, sometimes with physical implications. This distinction mirrors how the words are used in everyday speech.

An argument is a reasoned case open to discussion. Merriam-Webster defines it as “a set of reasons, statements, or facts offered in support of a position, common in academic, legal, and formal settings,” or “a reason given for or against a matter under discussion.” In these contexts, an argument is not a fight. Consider a commonplace example: “The committee presented a strong argument for increasing HOA fees.” Here, the word suggests a structured case; it doesn’t imply that the committee is fighting with anyone.

But in casual usage, “argument” has taken on a secondary meaning: “an angry quarrel or disagreement.” Consider: “She was in an argument with the HOA about the increased fees.” The tone of “argument” changes from a cooperative discussion to an emotional situation. In this sense, “argument” is closer to “fight.”

Even so, the two are not identical. A fight implies anger and confrontation, as its dictionary definition notes: “to contend in battle or physical combat.” Whether physical or verbal, a fight carries a heavier weight, while an argument remains potentially cooperative. Saying, “We had a fight after dinner,” sounds far more severe than saying, “We had an argument after dinner.”

In English, words can carry multiple meanings, and context determines which applies. In formal settings, “argument” refers to reasoning; however, emotional arguments may resemble fights. The distinction depends on the circumstances. 

Unless you’re dealing with a bout of the flu, the odds of falling asleep in the bathroom are slim to none. The activities in a restroom are usually accomplished with efficiency. So why do we refer to these spaces as “restrooms” when people rarely rest inside them? The origins of this term can be traced back to the 19th century, a time when these rooms were used for more than just bodily functions and ablutions (washing).

Originally, restrooms were quiet spaces in public buildings or workplaces where people could relax away from the hustle and bustle. The Oxford English Dictionary traces this meaning back to 1856, when there was no guarantee that resting rooms would even have toilet facilities. But as the century progressed, these literal rooms for rest began to incorporate attached lavatories in order to make the spaces more comfortable. The inclusion of toilets was even mandated in some jurisdictions.

By the end of the 19th century, a new definition for “restroom” — as in a place to use the toilet, specifically — slowly began to supersede its original meaning. The Online Etymology Dictionary notes that by the 1930s, “restroom” had become a widely understood synonym for “lavatory”; today that’s virtually the only usage.

Similar logic explains the origins of the term “bathroom,” which has been in use since 1670. Many early toilet rooms also included bathing facilities, so the word evolved to describe any lavatory, whether there’s a bathtub or not. As for the word “lavatory,” it’s derived from the Latin lavatorium, meaning “a place for washing.”