Pool Paraphilia

I wrote this short piece a couple years ago in response to a most amusing escapade which turned up in the news. This is the sort of thing that makes it dangerous to read the newspaper at the breakfast table; the oatmeal blew straight out my nose as I was ambushed by what should have a dull article. Moreover it's incidents like this that make me so miss my brother Bill. He would have ranked it right up there with Steve and Eydie.

But on to the peccadillo that kept me in stitches.

I'd like to think I'm fairly broadminded, but will confess to never understanding the allure of coprolagnia. This came to mind today, as I read about the imbroglio Fox News presenters Scottie Nell Hughes and Charles Payne have gotten themselves into. Seems the lass has an unbridled libido and penned Charles the following email:

"Do you know what I keep dreaming about. You and I in the pool… My legs wrapped around your waste and you have me pressed up against the wall of the pool."

Apart from the appalling cacography, (unless she really meant it and fantasizes of Baby Ruths in the pool), there's that business of "I," a nominative which cannot serve as a the object of the preposition here. One doesn't dream about "I," but about "me." Accusative case. And dream is not a linking verb.

Come to think of it, I'm not so broadminded after all. Coprolagnia I can abide, but not a so-called journalist abusing our Mother Tongue.

Next essay: A Maxim Worthy of the Grassroots