Spiffing y'all up, one typo at a time
Hey, y’all! Hope you’re having a lovely week. And I hope I can make it a bit lovelier with a little grammar/spelling lesson AND a new cocktail recipe! Who’s with me?
Today will be a short(-ish) post, one without any clever tricks or tips . . . who’s still reading? I can’t remember whose suggestion it was to write about this, so please forgive me if it was you!
Have you figured it out yet?
Who’s = a contraction of who + is
Whose = to whom something belongs
WHOSE suggestion was it to write about these two trap words?
It was HER suggestion.
WHO’S going to write about it?
Yes, I know the apostrophe can signal a contraction OR possession. And I know that here we have BOTH a contraction and possession. Sorry ’bout that, y’all. You know how jacked up English is, right? If English were my mama’s child, she’d have snatched it baldheaded and told it to straighten up and fly right.
But it’s not.
So you just have to learn which is which, remember which is which, and then take your time. Oh, and go back and read/self-edit your stuff!
Who’s gonna slow down and make sure you’ve used the right one?
Whose responsibility is it?
Let’s all make a pact to get it right!
Who’s with me?
Speaking of my mama (that’s one weak transition, huh?) . . .
It’s time I shared with you my latest favorite cocktail. I should have some clever name for it, but I don’t.
I am sure many of you imagine I acquired my great affinity for beer, wine, vodka, tequila, and the like from my mama. But I didn’t. She did enjoy the very occasional margarita. Wine wasn’t in my household very often and, when it was, it was sweet German wine. (I spent most of my 20s thinking I hated wine because of that Piesporter Goldtröpfchen stuff.) She did love an amaretto sour here and there, but, really, my drinking is all my own.* So, in that vein, I think I’ll call this:
Let’s recap: Today I have failed to provide you with any clever tips, I wrote a very weak transition, and I don’t have a cute name for my new adult beverage concoction. Time to pour myself a cocktail and get my act together for next week. Cheers!
Now that I think about, perhaps my mother did more to set me on my path than I give her credit for: Whenever I’d have a bad cough, she’d give me a tablespoon of Jack Daniels and honey. You know you’re Southern when . . .