One is “pare,” which can mean “to cut or trim away; peel” — hence, “paring knife.”

It also can mean “to reduce or diminish gradually.” This definition includes the advisory that it’s often used with ”down,” as in, “The House has promised to pare down the cost of the program.” This seems unnecessary — “reduce” and “diminish” already say “down” to me, but that’s idiom for you.

“Pare” can be traced back to the Latin “parare,” for “to set in order, get ready” — essentially the same as “prepare.”

The other homonym is “pear,” a type of tree that always seems to have a partridge in it this time of year.

The “-ear” spelling for the “air” sound is fairly rare — “bear,” “swear” and “wear” spring to mind.

Another is “tear” (the ripping kind). But there’s also “tear” (the crying kind), which rhymes with “hear.”

Sometimes it’s enough to make you tear your hair out until you tear up.

The word “pair” had its origin in the Latin “paria,” the neutral plural of “par,” which means “equal.”

So a pair is composed of two equal (or similar or corresponding) things.

“Au pair” (in French, literally, “as an equal”) concerns “an arrangement in which services are exchanged on an even basis,” like child care in exchange for room and board.

So there are two parties to an au pair arrangement, but generally only one of them is referred to as an au pair.

A safer word is “pair.” A pair is either two of something or “a single thing made up of corresponding parts that are used together,” such as a pair of pants or a pair of scissors.

It is also about two things when used as a verb, so it’s redundant to say “paired off in twos.” You can’t pair off in any other number.

And it can mean “to join,” so it’s also redundant to say “paired together.” Two things can’t be paired separately.

The name Cupid can be traced to the Latin verb “cupere,” meaning “to desire.”

From this comes the noun “cupidity” for “strong desire.” However, it’s seldom associated with romantic notions, but rather “wealth, avarice, greed.”

Cupid’s Greek counterpart was Eros (”eros” is Greek for “love”). Generically, “eros” is also all about desire, particularly of a sexual nature, as in “erotic.”

For “love,” the type that’s “a deep and tender feeling of affection,” we have to follow a trail back to the Gothic word “lubo.”

That’s right, Gothic, a Germanic culture too often unfairly thought of as “uncouth, uncivilized, barbaric.”

But Gothic is also a term for a kind of architecture and two types of fiction — atmospheric horror stories and melodramatic tales of romance.

Apparently the Goths knew there was more to love than just sex.

To “shut out” is to exclude. In sports, a “shutout” means one team was excluded from scoring. That team was “shut out.” Again following our guideline, the noun is one word (or hyphenated), the verb is two words.

More idiomatic examples with “shut”:

To “shut down” is to close or cease operation. The noun: “shutdown.”

To “shut in” is to surround or enclose. The noun and adjective: “shut-in.”

To “shut off” is to prevent passage or to isolate. The noun: “shut-off.”

And now it’s time to shut up and get some shut-eye.

To vote for someone who isn’t on a ballot, you “write in” that person’s name. The person then becomes a “write-in candidate” or just a “write-in.”

To “write out” is “to put in writing” or “to write in full.” As far as I know, there’s no corresponding noun or modifier — such things are just “written out.”

To “write down” is essentially the same thing, except in accounting. Then, to “write down” is “to reduce the book value of (an asset).” The noun, a “write-down,” is hyphenated.

To “write up” also can mean “to write a record or account of” or “to complete in writing.” But it’s also “to praise in writing,” for which the subject would get a “write-up.”

Unfortunately, getting “written up” also can have a negative connotation. If that happens enough, a person might get “written off” — that is, “dropped from consideration.”

In bookkeeping, to “write off” is generally a good thing (and sometimes it’s even legal): “to cancel or remove from accounts.” “Write-offs” are very popular around tax time.

And that’s enough writing for now. Right on!

As noted earlier, the older French “gigue,” for “fiddle,” may have figured in the origin of “jig.” The instrument’s distinctive shape also inspired two “gig-” words:

A “gigot” is “a leg of mutton, lamb, veal, etc.” or “a leg-of-mutton sleeve.”

In Old French, “gigue” also referred to a “long-legged, thin girl.” That gave rise to the French “gigole” for “prostitute.” In English, it’s “gigolo,” which has two principal meanings:

“A man who is paid to be a dancing partner or escort for women.”

“A man who is the lover of a woman and is supported by her.”

Two other “gig-” terms come from different stock:

The prefix “giga-” (”gigabyte,” “gigahertz”) means “one billion.” It comes from the Greek “gigas,” for “giant” — and that’s where our “giant,” “gigantic” and so on originated.

The acronym “GIGO” is a computer term derived from “garbage in, garbage out” — and that’s just what it means.

Surprisingly, the toughest thing to track down in all of this was how “jigger” came to mean a small amount of alcohol. The best explanation I could find is that it’s an alteration of “chigger,” the larva of a family of mites. A mite is mightly small, and so is a 1.5-ounce drink to someone who’s really thirsty.

“Dry martini, jigger of gin. Oh, what a spell you’ve got me in, oh, my. Do I feel high.”

From “Scotch and Soda” by Dave Guard  of the original Kingston Trio

It also can be a verb for such activities.

It’s a contraction of the earlier terms “fishgig” and “fizgig,” which have a fairly long lineage: the Spanish “fisga,” a type of harpoon, from “fisgar”; the Late Latin “fixicare,” the Latin “fixare,” all the way back to the Latin “fixus,” the past participle of “figere” — “to fasten, attach.”

Interestingly, “jig,” which is where this all started (remember?), also can be a fishing term. A jig is “any of various fishing lured that are jiggled up and down in the water.”

So, fish can be caught with a gig or a jig.

Our final “gig” is another slang version, this time for “an official record or report of a minor delinquency, as in a military school” or “punishment for such a delinquency.”

A solid synonym is “demerit.”

That one probably descended from Scandinavian words, such as the Danish “gig” — “whirling object” or “top” — and the Norwegian dialectical “giga” — “to shake, totter.”

The same Indo-European base, “ghei-,” meaning “to gape,” is also the ultimate origin of “gape” in English, as well as “giggle.”

This “gig” has three specialized definitions in modern English:

“A light, two-wheeled, open carriage drawn by one horse.”

“A long, light ship’s boat, especially one reserved for the commanding officer.”

“A machine for raising nap on cloth” — from the term “gig mill.”

That “nap” is “the downy or hairy surface of cloth,” which sometimes has to be artificially raised by brushing — as with a gig mill.

The sleeping kind of “nap” — my favorite hobby — has the following lineage: from Middle English “nappen” from Old English “hnappian,” akin to Old High German “hnaffezan” — which sort of looks like an attempt to spell a snoring noise.

Whew, I’m pooped. Time to get back to my hobby.

The other “gig” I’m familiar with is the slang one meaning “a job performing music, especially jazz or rock.” The book “American Slang” pegs its first appearance, among jazz musicians, at around 1905.

The meaning has since been generalized to cover “any job.”

But that “gig” is actually the fourth entry in Webster’s, which means it’s a relatively late arrival.

Check in the rest of the week for my takes on the others. Sorry to leave you hanging, but that’s all the time I have for this gig.