A tornado hit a Kansas farmhouse just before dawn one morning. It tore off the roof, and picked up the bed on which the farmer and his wife were sleeping. By some miracle, the cyclone set them down unharmed in the next county over.
The wife was sobbing uncontrollably. “Don’t be scared, Mary,” her husband said. “We’re not hurt.”
Mary continued to cry. “I’m not scared,” she said between sobs. “I’m happy…this is the first time in 14 years we’ve been out together.
Why do they call it a “building”? It’s all finished, isn’t it? Why not call it a “built”?