I enjoy a good story.
Picture two Victorian gentry sitting around a warm fire during the depths of winter. Surrounded by luxury, one spouting on about how marvellous the English language is. On and on they drone while their companion, trying to enjoy their decadence in peace, reaches over to their desk and picks up paper, quill and an ink well. They beautifully write a single word on the page before placing it on the small table in front of them both, being sure to careful moving the tea and scones to one side.
Stopping mid sentence, the more talkative of the two looks down at the word. Ghoti. Looking inquisitively, they say:
“Go-tee?”
“Goat-ee?”
“Got-eye?”
The writer, speaking for the first time, says “Do you not recognise this word? The 'GH' is pronounced the same as in the word 'laugh'. The 'O' as in 'women'. The 'TI' as in 'motion'. Given your love of the language, I'm surprised you do not recognise the word 'fish'!”
Of course this is a complete fabrication of how the word “ghoti” came about, but it does make for a good story.