Pain and Pleasure

Most phone booths in London seem to be papered over with little business cards, each of which features the image of a naked or nearly-naked woman, a phone number, and some unsubtle come-on. But today I saw a particularly disturbing example. It featured a woman in a tight leather outfit, leering at a man who was chained uncomfortably to the wall, with the words (and I quote exactly here) "You're pain is my pleasure." I was horrified. What sort of deviant would display, in full view of passing children and other impressionables, a sign that confuses "you're" with "your"? Is there no shame left in this world? I was tempted to get out my pen and blot out the apostrophe and the extra 'e', thereby rendering the phone booth once again suitable for public viewing.

But then a thought occurred to me. Perhaps London is such an extraordinarily literate city that a professional dominatrix can torture her clients just by misusing the English language in their presence. Certainly, if I was the type who wanted others to cause me pain, I would have gotten my money's worth just by reading the business card.