That’s Not What I Meant

I have a love-hate relationship with my autocorrect. Mostly hate.

Nothing is more irritating than trying to text your friends and having your phone insert what it thought you meant.

Some are mildly annoying:

Has anyone seen the great stapler? (gray)

I’m picking up your horse! (hose)

I’m getting in the cat now. (car)

Burp!  (BRB…be right back)

Every football season, my autocorrect tries to correct “SEC” to the word second. Somehow “Bama” even got autocorrected one time to Namaste. Which, incidentally, is a greeting I prefer to “Roll Tide” any day.

And it’s totally useless in other situations, like the time I wanted to thank my (male) friend for an awesome save-the-date card on his Facebook wall…“Thanks for the STD!” (WHERE was autocorrect on that one?)

Which brings us to a primitive form of autocorrect: your brain.

There’s actually entire websites dedicated to autocorrect #fails, kind of like, but with text messages (most of which I can’t really print here because of some of the language). Autocorrect, get your mind out of the gutter!

Ah, spellcheck..keeping our grammar in line for decades. (Is spellcheck one word or two?)

On that note, imagine a life where you weren’t allowed to make mistakes.

I can’t, really…and thank goodness.

Sometimes I do wish there was one cosmic autocorrect keeping us from screwing up our lives, but for the most part, life doesn’t work that way. The good, the bad, the ugly and the hilarious all get rolled into the human experience.

And while I wouldn’t wish any major mistakes on anyone, sometimes it’s OK to make small ones.

My phone, on the other hand, won’t even let me type in Whassup without trying to change it to Wasp!

And while if you ever get a text from me with Whassup in it, you’ll know my phone has officially been hijacked by terrorists, for now I say, sieze the day. Or carpet diem, as my phone would say.

Go ahead – I date you.