When the text or message you intended to send is ruined by the intrusiveness of your smartphone’s autocorrect function.
I received a photo of my newborn niece this morning.
Okay, hold up. I’m lying a bit. Full disclosure: she’s not my niece.
I have no siblings. I’m an only child. Hence the catastrophe of my personality. But still!
She’s my cousin’s daughter. But my cousin and I were born six-weeks apart and raised in social proximity, plus we’re Italian-American so we’re basically brothers. I’m claiming him as a brother. I’ve abropriated him. Boom. New word. Abropriated. Be impressed. In lieu of flowers, send flours. I’m into baking these days.
So he sends me a photo of the little peepin’ spud… and she’s a cutie. A feat, considering that she’s a newborn caucasian… and not to make it a race thing… but white babies newborns are… rough. Mottled. Lizardish.
But she’s cute! So I texted him as much:
what a cutie
But that dreaded autocorrect function took that text, and interpreted its subtext:
what a chore
Words cannot capture the restraint it took not to send that message to him. Because… comeon. Imagine how funny that would be. Those would literally be the first words I’ve ever spoken about this child… to anyone, let alone to her father. That poor bastard, all sleep-deprived and proud of his most recent contribution to overpopulation… he sends over a salvo of pictures of his 10-pound-boucin-baby and what does he get? What a chore. That’s friggin hilarious!
But I didn’t send it. I corrected the autocowreckt. Because I’m an adult. And because sincerity is the order of the day.
So ducking annoying.