It was the proudest moment of Sam Fletchers' young life when he received his diploma from The League of Signwriter's and Grocer's and Butcher's Assistant's. Not merely was he now qualified to write the price of apple's, cucumber's and potatoe's inside shop's all over the country, but he could also finally propose to the love of his heart, Ermintrude Entwhistle.
She came of a good family, whereas his was of modest mean's. He was deeply aware of the difference in their respective class's, as, no doubt was she: and although he could barely bring himself to speak to her, he felt sometime's that there was a glint of affection in her eye whenever she passed him in the street.
"I am your's"
Now that he held a precious diploma in one of commerces' most testing skill's, confidence filled his breast. "I am your's," he wrote to her. "Through the day's of my life, through sunset's and sunrise's alike, I am your's to command. Tell me to swim in Arctic water's, sweet Ermintrude, and I will. Order me to drink a dozen glass's of poison, and I will do so. Your's truly, Sam Fletcher."
Two day's later he received a message to meet her on Rathmine's Road. Nervously he approached the rendez-vou's. Ermintrude was already there.
"I am your's," he heard himself repeating, unable to prevent the word's pouring forth.
Ermintrude visibly stiffened. "It is `yours'," she said with a note of asperity. "Not `your's'. That is the very reason why I cannot be yours. Or your's as `The League of Signwriter's, Grocer's and Butcher's Assistant's' would say. Do you not understand? I cannot love a man who does not know where to put his apostrophes."
"My apostrophe's? What is wrong with my apostrophe's? I came first in all three apostrophe class's during my diploma course. I am proud of my apostrophe's. My lecturer's said I would rise to the dizzy height's of the sign-writing profession's, with my command of apostrophe's."
Ermintrude winced in pain. "There you are, you see. You are a good man and a decent man, and I would be paltering with the truth if I denied that I feel for you. But I cannot love a man who does not know where to put his apostrophes."
"Apostrophe's," replied Sam absently.
"My point precisely. I have nothing more to say to you," said Ermintrude haughtily. "Henceforth we shall be strangers."
Stranger's, thought Sam miserably. How can we be stranger's when I know nature intends us to be lifelong lover's? Yet he was not a man to submit to lifes' misfortune's. Back home, he looked up apostrophe in the yellow page's: sure enough, there were companie's offering apostrophe-awareness' class's throughout the country. Next day he signed up for one provided by Irish Time's Service's.
"Ca'nt help it"
"No," said his Irish Times lecturer on his first day, "it is not Irish Time's Service's but Irish Times Services."
"Irish Time's Service's," echoed Sam.
"Irish Times Services," said the lecturer patiently. Say after me: "Irish Times Services."
"Irish Time's Services," said Sam.
"Irish Times Services," intoned the lecturer again. Watch my lips. Irish Times Services.
Sam sobbed. "I ca'nt help it. Every time I see the letter `s' at the end of noun's and pronoun's, I want to put apostrophe's in. Its' human nature after all, do'nt you agree? Its' only human, is'nt it?"
The Irish Times lecturer repressed a small sob, and said: "Lets' begin. I mean, let's begin."
Two years later, Sam emerged with an M.Ap. There was nothing he did not know about the apostrophe. Joycean scholars deferred to him, Beckettian ones revered him. As he walked along the quays, he reeled at the apostrophic atrocities he beheld: Potatoes', Flat's to Rent, House's for Sale. He was filled with shame as he thought of his own onceheedless violence towards the English language, and to that precious little grammatical tadpole, the apostrophe.
Suddenly, he heard a screaming. A man rushed over to him, crying: "A young womans' fallen into the Liffey at Bachelor's Walk."
"Tut tut," reproved Sam. Surely you mean woman's and Bachelors Walk. It is Merchant's Quay but Bachelors Walk, and he proceeded on his way, quietly deploring the abominable decay in the linguistic standards of today's youth.
"Help, help," came a female voice, "Im' drowning, Im' being sucked down by undercurrent's."
"The wave's"
Sam froze. There was something familiar about the voice - but the apostrophes were a violation of all that was decent. Surely it could not be Ermintrude? And could he possibly want to save a creature who so despoliated the English language?
Yet some ancient, pre-apostrophic Sam remained within him. With a bound, he was swimming powerfully to the struggling figure in the river. "The wave's are dragging me out to sea, trilled the girl, and I ca'nt fight them any more."
With a manly grasp Sam seized Ermintrude - for it was she - and stroked strongly for the shore.
"You are one my lifes' heroes'," gasped Ermintrude, once on terra firma.
"Life's heroes, I think you mean," replied Sam modestly.
"Whatever," said Ermintrude, shuddering with desire. "I missed you so much that I went to The League of Signwriter's, Butcher's and Grocer's Assistant's class's to win you're love. Take me. Help yourself to my ample breasts', my ardent loins'."
"Oh, all right," said Sam.