Contractions
I have, at some point in the past, gone insane. Arguably insane, I guess. There are probably many definitions, of which, I'll argue, I fit at least one.
Shopping with my parents for flooring (bored on a Saturday), the saleswoman who helped us was probably the most attractive person I've seen, in person, in a long, long time. Frightening attractive, we'll call it.
And, yet, despite the unending screaming of primal urges, societal indoctrination, and evolutionary wiring, all I could think about, amongst racks and racks of carpet and tile and laminate, was that she spoke extremely succinctly and without contractions. Which, admirable though it was, I could not place her accent. Which bothered the bejeezus out of me. I stood there puzzled while she convinced my parents that laminate shouldn't go in their half-bath.
As a side note, she probably could have sold me anything. Good thing I'm only renting.
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