1952. It’s the second day at my new school. We just moved, and I am no longer at Royal Vale School in the Snowdon area of Montreal; I am now going to Willingdon, in leafy Notre-Dame-de Grace.
Apartment 34
1952. It’s the second day at my new school. We just moved, and I am no longer at Royal Vale School in the Snowdon area of Montreal; I am now going to Willingdon, in leafy Notre-Dame-de Grace.
Hi all! Here is this week’s mini-roundup of gaffes as collected by your servant, the ever-humble Grammar Cop Extraordinaire.
Feast your eyes, people!
Almost 78 years ago, these two ladies spent a fun day out on the town. My town: Montreal.
(YES I’m early!) I don’t know about you, but the Grammar Cop has lately been noticing a drastic increase in wrong-wordism. (Look, I’m sure there’s an actual term for that, but this G.C. never claimed to have a PhD in Pedantics.)
This week the Grammar Cop spent some time pondering why it is that ethnic-type restaurants refuse to hire proofreaders for their menus.
It was 47 years ago. Almost made me lose my faith in humankind. (Mind you, I’m sensitive, so it doesn’t take much!)
A sly paean to the less-than-perfect human condition.
Patti and the Crocodile Contest
Okay! The Grammar Cop is back from her holidays and has nailed three spelling infractions. Here they are for your reading pleasure!
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