I am not a fussy eater, it may surprise you to know. No need to tempt me much or cater to favorites. I will drink cardbordeaux* as long as it’s some kind of semi-dry red. I will eat slightly stale potato chips and grocery store brand mozzerella. I love olives but will eat spanish stuffed with pimento almost as happily as queen stuffed with bleu cheese.
Language is another think. It is native to me, inborn, almost unlearned. I stumble to explain the details of dangled participles and tensity of verbs. But like a pitcher who when asked how to throw a ball simply winds up and throws, I can give you a perfectly constructed sentence with perfect spelling and verb tense. I can also have it rhyme or add alliteration. (See what I did there? Probably not, because that’s consonance, not alliteration. Neener neener neeeener.)
My adoration for language extends past proper English. I love body language, emoticons, making faces, slang both old and new. This puts me in conflict with myself. I fight with me over grammar, spelling, anything that simplifies this young, complicated language. It is my art and my science, to be interpreted, researched, or revamped when needed.