Apostrophe

I’m not a grammar geek.   I’m not! I’m not!

I never cruise the streets,  gleefully correcting random capitalizations and multiple exclamation points on signs and posters.   I never say anything in the “10 items or less” aisle at the grocery store.   I have silently stood by and watched what Twitter and texting have done to further erode writing conventions.  (That does bring to mind the obvious question - What is the correct term for a person who uses Twitter? Surely not a twit.)

I admit when I first read Lynne Truss’s Eats Shoots and Leaves I burst out laughing in the book store – and not just a few discreet chuckles. In spite of my best efforts as a certifiable shy person,  loud and wet guffaws seemed to escape me every few paragraphs.

If there is a twelve step program for grammar geeks,  I don’t need it.  There is nothing for me to quit.  I have (shockingly!) been known to make grammar and spelling errors myself.  The only times I recall having indulged in correcting other people’s grammar (other than with my children) was to issue stern memos about the reports my co-workers wrote and I edited.  Despite my best efforts,  many of them had a hard time remembering that  “a lot” is two words, and “up to” means the opposite of “at least”.  

I do not indulge in bacchanalian fantasies of riding around on a white horse with blue pencil and white-out in hand, correcting errors like some sort of self-appointed Grammar Zorro. (Though I was sorely tempted when the “Bake sale Wednesday for atiusm class” was on a school marquee.)

That probably would be fun, and possibly cathartic, but I have only the unpleasant symptoms of grammar geekdom.

Every time I pass the “For Sale – Splitable Lot”  sign on the way to the post office my eye starts to twitch and I find myself shifting in my seat.  That sign has been there at least two years but the effect never faded. “Banana’s 68 cents a pound” on a grocery marquee will evoke an almost audible groan.  Unless tropical fruit is now in a position to need a wallet, that apostrophe has no business being there.  (“Per pound” would be better than “a pound”,  for that matter,  but you can only nitpick so much.)  The kids know they will get a rise out of me every time they say something happened “on accident” or “I seen it.”

I suppose a desensitization program to make me immune to the obvious flaunting of grammar and spelling conventions may be helpful, but I suspect that the cure may be worse than the disease.

Our oldest son Bob came to visit last week.   The  “For Sale” sign on our lawn could not be missed.  Apparently,  “For Sale” signs are never taken down until the house actually closes escrow.   We have been in escrow for an eternity, so the sign has been there for a long time.  (Escrow, as my brother so eloquently describes it,  is a tortuous white knuckle ride that can fall through at any moment like a toddler’s overfilled diaper - with approximately the same results.)

Bob looked at the sign and said to me with undisguised glee, “So, Mom, there seems to be an awfully large amount of space between the o and the s in photos.”

As the kids say:  we were SO busted.

This was a professionally produced sign by a nationwide real estate company. There is a lovely picture of the agent and the company logo is prominently displayed in red across the top of the sign.

But when we first saw the carefully emblazoned  “photo’s online”  we shuddered.  It was on both sides of the sign. Even the kids shuddered .  

Having that on the lawn was worse than having a mosquito trapped inside one’s underwear.

And amazingly, the day after the sign appeared on the lawn, the apostrophes magically disappeared.  Both of them. The spaces where they had been were still there, however -  I guess the good Samaritan that relieved us of this irritant could only work so much magic.   

Spaces or not,  I am grateful.  And if all goes as expected, (want to make any bets on that?) the house will close escrow next Friday and the sign will be off the lawn.  We will leaving that morning in any case, so if there are any pointed inquiries about the missing punctuation we will be over the state line and unavailable for questioning.

And we can bwa-ha-ha-ha all the way to the Connecticut about our own little bit of grammar rebellion.