Auto-correct: Better than therapy or religion for self-discovery.
Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.
Nothing ruins a good head of steam behind an angry rant more than promising to shoe your clock into someone’s pie. Aside from being a confusing threat, you probably only typed that into the auto-corrected text box because your hot tears of fury blinded you to the fact that auto-correct seems to have the retributive imagination of a Buddhist garden gnome librarian woman, cursing the neighborhood squirrels with mumbles of, “oh, fluff,” and other equally slashing-tongued expletives.
Probably, you meant to say something else to your bigoted friend. Something a little more therapeutic, possibly about where they could keep their jar of raspberry jam.
But auto-correct, in all its wisdom, intervened.
It happens to all of us. I’m sure sometimes. It’s one of these “first world” problems. And it’s one that causes me…so much confusion.
I never know how I feel anymore. That’s the problem. There was a time when, if you were angry about something, you’d clack venom onto a typewriter for a while, sometimes literally mixing snake venom in with your ink so that anyone angry enough to eat your letter when they got it would have a bad afternoon. You’d type up your angry thoughts, and then you’d go hang it on the old oak in town square, for the world to see. Airing your grievances, they called it. That’s the origin of that expression. Didn’t you know?
It’s not. Never trust my histories.
It is.
It’s not.
…
Moving on.
Simpler lives. That’s what they had. You knew how you felt, because you could express yourself.
I haven’t known how I felt for years. Not since auto-correct has been so kind as to tell me what I actually mean. I mean to type something honest, like, “I love you,” or, “Thanks very much,” or, “chew a bag of cat dongs.” You know. Usual endearments. And auto-correct graciously informs me that what I meant was, “I live you!” A threat, apparently. Or “Tanks bury luck.” Apparently I’m…a magical pirate? Or, “few sag, Cat Kong!” Which just makes more sense.
It’s immensely convenient, you know? I used to spend hours a day wondering how I actually felt and taking time to accurately compose my thoughts so that people understood me. Now all the confusion has been removed from that part of my life, and I can rest easy knowing that I will never confusing anyone ever again.
So I shall leave you with these comforting words, as first imagined by me and corrected automatically by my new emotional confidant and aid.
For the ladies, take comfort from California stimulation.
And for the guys, there’s nothing nicer than a farm pair of socks between your knees.
I think you know what I mean by that.
