No matter how strong my resolve to not care about the use of the word I when instead I hear the word me, it still trips me up. At least I think-correct instead of say-correct when I hear a sentence like, “Cindy made the cutest dresses for Lisa and I.” No one would say, “Cindy made the cutest dress for I,” so why oh why not say “Cindy made the cutest dresses for Lisa and me”?
Picky, picky. I know. Still.
My heart warmed as I read a letter that Dad Kenneth Williams typed to his mother back in the ’40s.