Autocorrect. Ahhh. Dear, sweet autocorrect. Sometimes you’re an excellent time saver. How you knew I meant “monolithic” when I actually typed “monthly” is beyond my powers of comprehension.
The fact that my swipey keyboard allows me to flick my finger across the bottom half of my phone to formulate words in the same way that any self-respecting overweight American woman would say no to someone with a signature finger wag amazes me to this day.
That said, sometimes you amaze me for the wrong reasons. Once, for example, when I texted a relatively new girlfriend to say that I thought she was astoundingly sexy, I was lucky to see that you’d corrected it to “astoundingly ugly” before I pressed send. Caught in time, there was no harm done. But sometimes I miss your subtle corrections.
Making me send the words “your”, “of” and “there” instead of the words “you’re”, “if” and “their” in one text to a friend with excellent grammar and spelling makes me appear inadequate and under-schooled. My protests fell on deaf ears. “yeah, yeah Dan. It corrected three words all from the correct spelling to the incorrect spelling in one sentence. Whatever you say!”
You also choose to correct my swearwords. So much so that I’m general conversation - and within earshot of children - it’s not uncommon to hear friends refer to those that have wronged them as “ducking aunts”
The worst thing you do, though, is amend the very structure and ferocity of what I wish to say. Earlier today I was going for the word “arsehole”. Your correction of “arseclown”, whilst amusing, lessens the impact I wanted to make. Though it gave a gay friend on Twitter a new idea for how to complete the “profession” section on application forms.
So, autocorrect, I’d like to say sincerely, both thank you and duck you. You can be a real piece of shot, but you’ll always be an enjoyable piece of shot that keeps me on my toes, and that’s not at all bad.