I fear someday soon I will be all alone in my stalwart masking. I wear a mask to protect others—not to obscure a hypothetical snout full of sharp teeth that I might, hypothetically, have and might, hypothetically, intend to eat you with.
Each new metaphor is a leaf of romaine, a cherry tomato, a pound of Jell-O, eighteen hot dogs, or a handful of croutons. A lesser writer may remark that a mixed metaphor can only cause confusion, but this is coward’s talk and will quickly earn a jab to the throat.
I can understand how you would get confused. “Gaslighting” gets thrown around so much these days that it can feel like it’s lost all meaning. But it is pretty strange that you keep saying you know what it means when everybody else disagrees with you. Literally everyone. I asked all of them.