Am slightly unnerved by myself.
I find it hard to leave things alone. Like spelling mistakes. The only reason I sometimes will – with cold sweat on my feverish forehead – let one stand because I was told that to make a mistake is what makes us human and other people love you. As comforts go it’s a great one: Which human doesn’t want to be considered human? Being loved? Let’s get back to that another time. Instead I bleed. Not least because I am the daughter of a perfectionist. OH MY GOD. And to make matters worse I don’t use a spell checker (as you, Cynthia, no doubt, will remember). It’s a matter of pride. If I don’t know how to spell something I will consult my dictionary and ignore all American spelling suggested to me: Where there is colour there is a ‘U’. And that’s that. You don’t swot a sizeable chunk of your life learning the intracacies of English spelling only to then realize that Americans have taken the German route chucking out all that is superfluous.
Hugs and kisses,