The message on his t-shirt was several kinds of wrong. It had been going so well. The gentleman submissive had taken me to Brighton for the day, and I’d dragged him to my favourite lesbian bar for lunch. Yet the t-shirt – those extraneous apostrophes and the inexplicable dash…
I informed the barmaid of the grammatical errors he was wearing, and she was in complete agreement with me.
He claimed that it had been expensive, therefore couldn’t be wrong. It must be some kind of Yee Oldee Englyshhh use of punctuation, he said.
Still, he took exception to me trying to scrape the two excess apostrophes off with my fingernail.
“It was from White Stuff!” he squealed.
“They’ve used too much white stuff,” I said. “It’s spattered all over the lettering like punctuation bukkake! And the one place that needs an apostrophe is missing one. See? There, just after the word tinkers? Right! We need some Tipp-Ex…”
