A recent discovery, which with my luck won’t create even a ripple, deals with added flabbiness in speech and writing.

The culprit has a name: “Like.” We’re not talking about the verb like, which might appear in this sentence: “I really like Katherine Zeta Jones.” That’s a legitimate use of the word.

It’s the flabby part of speech that we make of “like,” when we like overuse it.

My older grandkids have made that word the most popular of all time — but let’s not single them out, as it seems the most over-used word among anyone in school is — like. Being the host parents to two foreign-exchange students, one from Spain, one from Belgium, we’ve socialized, usually in Albuquerque, with dozens of other high schoolers from all over Europe, Asia and South America.

And what do the ones we’ve spoken to have in common? Almost all pepper their speech with “like,” “kinda” and “sorta,” with the zeal that they pepper their fries. And on a short visit to a MacDonald’s restaurant in Prague only last year, we listened in as Czech students succeeded in imitating American teens.

The main similarity we discerned was that they use almost all of our most common words; the main difference is that the kids from Prague slathered their fries with mayo, not catsup.

I’m like struggling to make like my main point — not because it’s difficult but because it’s too easy. I can insert “like” like almost anywhere, in like any like sentence, and guess what! It’ll like fit, even if it’s not like proper English.

My above-mentioned discovery is about what the word has spawned: “kinda” and “sorta.” People use this to attenuate what they’re about to say. We use it to give ourselves a bit of wiggle room, just in case what we said might not be exactly correct.

Example: My mechanic is explaining that the serpentine belt that runs the family car needs replacement. He could say, “You need a new belt, and for that job, I have to remove the engine. I figure I can have it back for you in two weeks, or by the time you get your refund check. $500.

Yes, the mechanic could say that, but he first needs to soften the shock. More likely, he’ll say, “You need like a new timing belt, and for that job, I sorta have to remove the engine and kinda get in there to check the other parts.”

Has he reduced the price by a penny? No, but he’s tried to break it to me gently. After all, Señor Mecánico isn’t really going to remove the engine. Remember: He’s only like going to remove it. Do I get a discount? Dream on!

The offspring of “like” serve almost the same purpose in speech as in writing. I’ve heard kinda and sorta in many contexts.

Observe: One of my bosses in the past said: “We’ve decided we’re going to sorta cut your pay.” Well that sorta made paying rent kinda daunting.

The girl I was planning to take to the prom: “Well, my boyfriend from last year kinda said he’d be back in town, and I sorta feel guilty if I don’t like go with him instead.”

The all-too-common “kinda,” “sorta” and “like” attenuate the meaning, implying that the pronouncement isn’t really that bad. Do I get a discount on the labor for the timing belt?

Does Mr. Wonderful from last year stay home on prom night? Do I still get that hoped-for good-night kiss from my prom date? No, but I’m sure her interloping boyfriend from last year did.

The concept of “sorta” and “kinda” made its mark on me many years ago in the sixth-grade classroom of Sister Callate Malcriado, at Immaculate Conception School. In explaining the difficulty of voyagers traveling to Alaska from Europe, our teacher said the ships needed to sail all around the southern tip of South America.

To this sixth grader, the solution was obvious: Why didn’t they just sail north, around Canada?

Well, my question earned me a quick ejection from the classroom, but there was a dual reason for ousting me: First, I’d failed to realize things were frozen that far north; second, I spoke without raising my hand.

The most painful part of the ordeal was trying to explain myself to the class. “Well, I kinda was saying that if the sailors sorta went north, they might like get there faster.” I’d used three flabby expressions: sorta, kinda and like, to make my explanation even flabbier.

Gabriel Doyle, who has a Ph.D. degree in linguistics, explains that “sorta” is a “de-precision device,” wherein the speaker is really saying, “Don’t think of this as being overly accurate.”

In my case, before being bounced out of class, I suspect I kinda wanted to cover my tracks (or whatever cliche applies here). If I used kinda and sorta in my explanation to the class, I might melt the teacher’s heart just enough to have her overlook both my impudence and my incorrect question.

These pudgy expressions don’t refer to classes of things, like butterflies or bumble bees; rather they’re “hedge” words designed to lessen the force or meaning of a statement.

Often in this column I’ve wondered whether words like sorta and kinda have been used for decades, to soften the impact of statements, or whether their appearance is more recent. The fact that I clearly recall having played the kinda-sorta game when in grade school hints at their vintage.

I suggest you kinda listen for these usages. I predict you’ll hear them often and even sorta get used to them.