dead words

At what point do words become extinct?

I ask someone at work for an elastic and they look at me blankly. "What's an elastic?" they want to know.  I had no idea the word had been retired in favor of rubber band.

And then there's the word pocketbook.  Now that's a word that never really described the item it was meant to describe. But still, growing up, we all had pocketbooks.

My mom still goes to the beauty pahlah. But now we know it as a salon.

And now a new one.

I go to Staples to buy a refill for my Filofax (I still redundantly use a Filofax along with my digital Calendar). I see Day Timer and At-A-Glance fillers, but no Filofax.  And so I ask.

"Excuse me, can you tell me where the Filofax refills are?"

"The what?"

"Filofax refills?"

The young sales guy yells to his peer, "Hey Joe, ever hear of Filofax?"

"Nope."

"Sorry ma'am, we don't carry that brand."

So I started thinking ahead, wondering what words are in today's vernacular that could be gone forever tomorrow, and all I can think of — actually hope for — are two words, Donald Trump.