Despite the several typos that are in this post alone, I actually have a degree in English Studies from Illinois State University. I don’t know why I included the institution. An English major is pointless regardless of where you got it. The only thing it is good for is creating instances in your life that drive you crazy to no end.
For example, reading anything on Social Media becomes the single most painful experience of your life. People, one more time, “Their fucking shit is over there. They’re going to have to fucking pick it up. Hope that helped. In addition to these obvious errors, there are others that drive people like me insane. I’m not going to go through all of them because I’m sure you’ve already zoned on my nerdiness.
I will, however, mention my favorite; less vs fewer. I know, I know, no one cares. Nonetheless, here is very easy way to remember. If you are talking about a tangible object or objects that can be counted, it’s fewer. If you’re talking about a more obscure concept or something that can’t be counted individually, it’s less. Example, Jimmy has banged fewer girls than Johnny. However, Jimmy is less itchy than Johnny. See the difference? Ok, I feel better getting that off my chest.
Being a mom and having an English degree could be the most torturous thing ever. I don’t know how English teachers do it. My oldest is currently in Second Grade and he is all about reading out loud to me. While I know it is great for him to do so, I want to stick a flesh-eating cockroach in my ear every. single. time. I love him, but fuck. I could understand if he was actually sounding out every word like I know he knows how to do, but no. That would be too easy. He has to dick around looking at the picture and trying to guess what each word is based on the first letter and what he thinks is going on in the picture. FUCK! And to add insult to injury, he insists on chewing gum from the moment he gets home until the moment he eats dinner and beyond. So, he’s half-ass reading while chewing his gum like I just brought him in from pasture.
So, he’s guessing what each word is instead of just reading like I know he knows how to do, he’s chewing a piece of gum like it’s cud, AND like every other waking minute of this kids life, he isn’t sitting still. Today, he actually got a paper cut from just reading a book.
Allow me to paint a picture, he is about 3/4 of the way throw a book we got from the library. Great. Feeling like I’m nailing this whole parenting thing. I look over and he has the book on the couch while he is sitting on the floor facing the couch. I look back a few seconds later, and he has one leg up on the couch. A few seconds after that, his head is on the couch, perpendicular to the book. What. The. Fuck.
“Are you seriously reading that book right now?”
Then I hear, “OUCH!”
“What did you do?”
He actually said the following words, “The book scratched me.”
Being the stellar mother that I am, I told him it served him right for reading a book like that, asked him what was wrong with him, and made him sit up to finish reading the book. He stumbled through the remaining pages all while chewing his gum like a long-lost valley girl.
“Did I do good?”
“You sure did! Why don’t you go get a snack.” I react to my son finishing a book the same way I do to the end of a really intense workout. “Oh thank you, sweet Baby Jesus!!”
I love my son to death, and I want to be a good parent, and I of all people know the importance of him reaching as much as possible. However, a human can only tollerate that kind of torture for so long. After a few cocktails, I’ll regret having such a negative reaction to his reading…until tomorrow when he wants to read again. I’m convinced this is my punishment for correcting everyone’s grammar at the bar for all those years. Still not sorry.