Grammatica

Absolute, inexcusable silliness. Enter at your own risk!

“Ooo, Connie! Look at the displays in Grammatica’s window! We must go in!” 

“Oh, yes, Lexi!” Connie corroborated. “Let’s!” 

The ladies entered the shop, pushing the door that nudged tiny bells to tinkle a fanfare fit for fairies. The effeminate ectomorph inside flitted toward them, all teeth and flying eyebrows. 

“Lexi! Con! How good to see you both! And such propitious timing! A new shipment has arrived from overseas, full of fabulous items you won’t want to miss!” 

“Yes,” Lexi mewed. “We saw the new ampersands and tildes in the window. Most enticing.” 

“Ah, yes. Fresh from the shores of Spain. But come over here,” the curator gestured, leading them to a display case. 

Lexi “ooohed” and Connie “aaaahed”. 

“Aren’t these just stunning?!” the curator sighed. “They’re perfect umlauts from Uffenheim. They’re the youngest of the tremas, you know; still very fashionable overseas, even having snuck their way into Newtonian calculus--though usage there is strictly derivative. But the look is pure pointillism, don’t you think?” 

“Oh, yes,” Connie mused. “So Seurat!,” 

“And over here,” he said turning slightly, “is an exceptional collection of eszetts from Essen”. 

“I’ve never seen one of those,” Lexi marveled. “They look like fancy Bs!” 

“But they sound just like an ‘s’!” the curator said, sibilant. 

“No!” 

“Scout’s honor.” 

“Fascinating!” 

“But these are my favorites,” the man announced, pulling velvet drapes aside to reveal a shining mobile of curlicues. 

“Cedillas!” Connie cried. 

“Flawless gems from the streets of Sevilla. Used for generations to ensure certain Cs in specific Latin-derived languages sound like Ss.” 

“Such magical little characters!” Lexi declared. 

“I must have a pair,” Connie decided. 

“And I want an ezsett,” Lexi added. 

The curator smiled wide. “Help yourself to some tea while I fetch your objets de choix! 

He spun on his heel and scuttled away. 

“And to think,” Connie cooed to Lexi as she poured herself some tea, “we were just going to buy a crummy old octothorpe!” 

Lexi humphed. “Pound signs are so last week!” 

Connie concurred. 

“Hashtag: Tired!” 

They both cackled: forced, high-pitched ha-ha-has, their air of affectation betrayed by blatant onomatopoeia.