Apr 192017

At times, being an English Major can be sheer torture. Listening while others butcher the English language is cruel and unusual punishment. I shudder when I hear the pompous speakers among us using me, myself, and I interchangeably. My dentist tells me I must stop grinding my teeth, but how can I when so many insist on saying I seen instead of I saw? If I hear one more person say I seen, I will not be responsible for my actions.

An English Mutilator nearly ruined my winter vacation this year. MG’s high school classmates, MG and I shared a rental home in Florida for a week. The house was lovely, the weather was gorgeous, the company was terrific, and the attractions we visited were interesting and entertaining. We were having a fabulous time, and then one evening I decided to do some laundry. Huge mistake.

It was hidden at first, this serpent in the Garden of Eden. A pile of folded towels blocked the diabolical missive from view. I lifted the towels off the clothes dryer to set them aside, and then and there it assaulted my vision and attacked my sensibilities. The offensive object was a printed note from the cleaning service that was taped to the top of the dryer. I recoiled at the sight of it. The note began with the most blatant of errors. The horror! The rest of the note was unintelligible in places. I nearly wept for an American public school system that produced such incompetence.

I did my laundry, averting my eyes the entire time so as not to view that note from hell, but the damage had been done. I couldn’t get that mangled memo out of my mind. It haunted me. I went to bed but couldn’t sleep. Knowing that satanic, error-ridden note existed, that it was out there in the laundry room mere steps from my bedroom, gnawed at me. I couldn’t let that attack on proper English slide. I needed to deal with it.

I had to make certain MG was asleep. His snoring confirmed it, so I slid out of bed cautiously, grabbed the little flashlight I always keep beside my bed, and slipped a pen out of my purse. I tiptoed to the laundry room. I felt a rush of adrenalin as I corrected the cleaning service’s error that tasked me the most. I couldn’t resist taking a photo of my handiwork as a trophy commemorating my victory over illiteracy.

Afterward, I walked on air as I sneaked back to bed. I slept like a baby, a very content English Major baby.

  2 Responses to “The Tortured English Major #English #grammar #homophones #EnglishMajorHumor”

  1. Ah yes. I do so feel your pain. Not only am I an English major, I was raised by an English teacher AND a writer. I had no chance. The worst is when a written error appears on television. No blue pen is strong enough to correct in there.

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