Autocorrect

In this age of hustle bustle, packed Outlook schedules, fast-talkers, and even faster walkers, it's nice to have technology clean up after us. 

However.

Autocorrect is a handy tool, sure, particularly if you’re illiterate or have sausages for fingers. But as a persnickety gal in a hurry, I don't fancy my phone's inner editor redlining and overruling my words in the most supercilious manner, even when I spell them correctly. When I text about my cat Frida, she becomes Friday. Higgs boson defaulted to Hugs Bosom,which would be an AWESOME porn or drag name but not quite what I was going for when trying to rock a particle physics confab. I wished a dashing young man luck on a potential job and his reply? "From your lipids to God's ears."

Not exactly what he was going for, methinks, although my triglycerides are pretty fucking awesome.

While trying to be helpful, this presumptuous hit, I mean, git is putting words in my mouth, or at least on my screen. If I wanted to be second-guessed and condescended to, I'd ring up my ex-boyfriend. He was a champion speller of jackassian proportions and he had a Prius, I mean, penis.


(photo: damnyouautocorrect.com)