In the history of Major League Baseball (240,000 games, give or take a few thousand), pitchers have thrown exactly 24 perfect games, in which 27 consecutive batters have been retired without reaching base. So, in any given baseball contest, there is a .01% chance of this feat being accomplished — almost a perfect certainty that this achievement will not occur.

Striving for perfection is a great motivator for some of us and a source of tremendous frustration for others. Skill and practice sometimes combine to produce the “picture perfect” swing of the bat or golf club, a perfect score in bowling, a perfect math quiz, or the commission of the “perfect” crime. Just as often, luck and happenstance play roles, as when we find the perfect spot for a picnic or the perfect life partner, or when a “perfect storm” of elements combine to produce an unusual event.

We often use some form of the word “perfect” in our daily lives, in phrases such as perfectly content, a perfect example, perfect stranger, perfectly justified, to name a very few. If, dear reader, you keep your ears finely tuned, you will be amazed at the number of times you hear this word used.

At this point in your reading you may be asking, “So what, Mr. Obvious?”

After all, you and I know perfectly well that language evolves, the dictionary expands, words take on different and sometimes unexpected meanings as they adapt to the changing times. And, typically, I accept these changes as part of the natural order of things.

But I have my limits, and over the past year or two, my patience has been put to the ultimate test. The situation is perfectly horrible! In fact, things have gotten so out of hand that I now hesitate to go shopping or to dine out in a restaurant. As one of many examples of the dire straits of things, I offer the following:

A few weeks ago (we don’t splurge very often) my wife and I were looking at menus in a moderately expensive restaurant. After a few minutes, a server came up to our table and asked in a sweet, smiley way: Do you folks need more time? We did not, and I listened as my wife placed her order:

I think I’ll have the veal marsala.

Perfect! And for your side dishes?

I’ll have mashed potatoes and beets.

Perfect. Would you like a salad or appetizer?

Let’s see. How about a garden salad to split with my husband?

Perfect. Any water or sparkling beverage?

Tap water is fine.

OK, perfect. How about you, sir?

Now I know what you are thinking: This guy is putting me on. This is total exaggeration! Oh that was so, my friend! It would please me no end to say that the word perfect was not, in fact, used four times in a matter of 40 seconds. And, no joke, I heard it spoken at least three more times that evening as I placed my own order.

Yes, yes, this is certainly a perfect example of a “First World problem.” I’m the first to recognize that in a far from perfect world filled with wars, injustice, intolerance and fear (not to mention indictments, corruption, scams and misinformation), word usage may not rise to the top of anyone’s list of major concerns. I admit, ranks somewhere around number 47 on mine.

Why, then, does overuse or misuse of the “P” word cause me such grief? It sometimes feels like an assault on my linguistic sensibilities, but heck, me, I don’t always talk so good. As a songwriter I use improper English when it fits a mood or provides a clever rhyme. I fully appreciate the fact that one’s cultural or social background influences one’s use of the English language. So what is it about the “P” word that grates on my nerves and annoys me so?

Well, I know the answer and I’m not proud of it, for it is the same reason I am bothered, at times, by the behavior or speech or beliefs of others. My answer might sound familiar: I think I know better. For some bizarre reason, I realize that I believe I am the arbiter of right and wrong, that I possess a deeper understanding of social norms and mores than my fellow citizens.

This, of course, is perfectly ridiculous. I, like you, am an imperfect human being with a few perfectly awful habits and tendencies.

Still, the question nags at me: Is there something in any way “perfect” about ordering tap water or mashed potatoes? I think not. Is it not annoying to be bombarded by the same word over and over again? I think so.

My wife, on the other hand, barely noticed our server’s use of language. When I explain how the “P” word makes me feel, she, in her infinite wisdom, simply says: “It’s your choice. If you choose to be annoyed, be annoyed. But don’t take it out on me.”

In my next life, I want to come back as my wife.

Gene Stamell keeps his grievances to himself at home in Leverett. He can be reached at gstamell@gmail.com.