Absolutely correct, Jenise. Good point.
I suppose you could classify language as 1) the generally accepted style and usage (the "rules"; which are always, by the way, lagging just behind actual style and usage); 2) the sender; and 3) the receiver.
Jon Carroll, a columnist for the SF Chron----and one heck of a good writer and social observer----frequently runs a hilarious column of mondegreens. You know, those instances where one misinterprets something being said, and comes away with an entirely different (and often totally meaningless) interpretation?
They are most often heard in pop songs. And all of us have had those mondegreen moments.
Don't get me wrong: I firmly believe in learning the current conventions of usage. I used to teach that after all. And it is necessary for effective communication. But there are those who seek to "freeze" a language without realizing they cannot do so---not for long, anyway---because language is very much a living thing, and thus constantly changing.
One can be aware of the conventions. And should be. But one must be aware of the constant change as well. Adhering to a fixed style, and assuming it is "correct", is simply falling back mindlessly on what you were taught in grade school and thinking that is the one fixed 'correct' way.
Brings to mind a funny story. We were vacationing in southern France a few years ago with another couple. We went to a restaurant. Our male friend had convinced himself he spoke perfectly fluent French for the few words and phrases he knew. He was born and bred in Noo Yawk, and it was obvious to everyone, if you get my drift. He insisted on ordering in French. Madame, the soul of elegance and hospitality, clearly had no idea whatsoever what he was saying---and he, knowing he was speaking impeccable French, was stymied that she could not understand him. He refused to use English. At an impasse, Madame had an inspiration: she would point to each main course and make the appropriate noises. For steak, she would moo. For chicken, she would cluck.
Things went well (and the rest of us were falling off chairs while laughing so hard we were in pain), until she came to a fish dish. She hesitated for a long while, then pursed her lips, popped her eyes out, and made a fish face, accompanied by little swimming motions.
By this time the entire restaurant was watching the show, and our dinner companion was enthusiastically responding in kind.
He ordered the moo.
And he never could understand why she couldn't understand his perfectly good French.