"Haf Ta? Of Course You Don't Fuckin' HAF Ta!"

Indulge me, if you will, in a discourse on the language. I want you to read the following sentences, quietly, to yourself, only in your head, then read them again, out loud:

"I have two."
"I have to."

Having read them out loud, once you knew the intent of each sentence, did you notice something? Did you feel the way your pronunciation of "have" in the second sentence became more of a "haf," more of an eff than a vee? This is not a bad thing. From what I can tell, this distinction between uses exists in every native English speaker, regardless of where they come from, how they were raised, and it seemingly happens regardless of the propriety of their diction (trust me on that one).

So I have a proposal, a modest one that involves little more than changing the English language, to distinguish between "have," and "haf," to recognize them as two independent words, with different meanings. These meanings, of course, would be linked, as they have the same root, or, rather, "haf" is a progeny of "have."

It could be seen as nitpicking, and, indeed, it is, but here's my argument: in addition to having developed entirely independent pronunciations, both words managed to form their own meanings. "Haf" is a more specific brand of "Have." For the dictionary crowd, here's how it would look on paper:

Have (verb): To possess; I have two.

Haf (verb): To possess the need; I haf to.

Tell me this doesn't make sense. Do it. I know, you probably haven't thought about it before, and that's why I'm here, to think about these things for you. If God has a sense of humour, and I think he's proven on more than one occasion that he does, you'll start to be bothered by this distinction. You'll be having pleasant conversation with friends or families, when one of those present will use "have" and "haf" in relatively rapid succession, and your attention will be drawn to it, and you will be bothered. I haf to hope so, at any rate.