Apologies for accidental texts

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– Hey, just want to say I’m sorry I pocket-texted you in the middle of your orthodontist appointment. I know when you have an appointment you only keep your phone on for emergencies, so I’m sorry you had to swallow some fluoride and reach down to your vibrating pocket thinking that your aunt went into labour, that your grandma slipped and broke her hip, or that we finally found Snoofy, only to read: “wja;3.” I won’t put my phone in my back pocket when I’m on the bus ever again.

– Also, sorry I texted you: “took a #2 in the girls’ side of the now gender-inclusive washrooms.” I meant to text you that you can use the guys’ side now “2.” Isn’t autocorrect crazy?

Just a heads up: I think my phone might have a virus or something. I know you’re going to the movies tonight with, what’s his name, Dave? So you know, if you get a bunch of texts, it’s just the phone.

Hey babe, so not only do phones pocket-text, they can pocket-like, which I’m sure you saw. I wouldn’t actually give the thumbs-up to those pictures your sister posted on Facebook — the ones of her on the beach in a bikini. What is she, like, 15?

– This is a serious one. I don’t know why technology would be so malicious. I don’t know why my phone sent you a message saying that Snoofy got hit by a moped. He didn’t, I don’t think, or at least I hope. But then, is that the worst way to go? I mean, wouldn’t it be terrible if a fox ate him while he was still alive? Or he trespassed into someone’s backyard and drowned in a hot tub? Or he thought he could make it over a barbed wire fence? By the way, how’s Dave?

– Now, this is a Hail Mary, but you’ve got to believe me. Babe, babe, my phone’s got a mind of its own. I’m sorry I pocket-texted you that our relationship’s as stale as the Doritos from last year’s Super Bowl party. Don’t be freaked out. I read some philosopher who talked about the probability of a monkey with a typewriter clacking out all of Shakespeare’s plays. This can’t be that different. But I guess it is pretty spectacular. I just don’t know what to be more amazed by: the fact that I remember what kind of chips I ate last February, or that my ass managed to write a whole sentence.

– So by take a break do you mean, like, a long time? I know things can get miscommunicated over the phone.

– You know I want to say this is my phone’s fault, but I was just surfing through Facebook and I may have poked your sister last night. I don’t remember. I don’t care.

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