Writing a daily column without a copy editor, leaves me open to accusations of not dotting my I’s and crossing my T’s — providing assurance that my work was accurate down to the very last detail—something which ain’t necessarily so.
It’s a degree of meticulousness which originated in 19th century classroom where schoolchildren were warned — you guessed it — of confusing their I’s with their T’s by carelessly writing them without their respective dots and crosses.
So it goes. If the truth be known, I’m also not always on the nose, something that originated in old time radio and the signal given by the producer to the on-air performer that the program was running according to schedule.
Those who find my efforts to actually be so, may also find them done to a turn (c.1780) — like meat being turned on a spit, until cooked to just the right degree.
They should then suit you to a T, the draftsman’s T, that is – a shaped ruler being used for accurate drawing of right angles. Or better yet, the T which was the first letter of the word “tittle,” a dot or a jot (late 17th C.).
Here in greater Seattle, they’re all that and more. Things are always in good order or in good health here. That’s because they’re as right as rain (c.1894). And rain is what it’s all about.
What is so right about the rain? You got me. Except for a pleasant alliterative ring, it doesn’t have much going for it, unless, of course, if you live here; in which case, rain is always 100% politically correct.
Whatever… just don’t rain on my parade.