Dear autocorrect, I really, truly hate you. You ruin my life on a daily basis. And you won't even let me swear at you.
You think you're so helpful, but all you do is make me seem like a creepy moron. Ok fine, autocorrect: like more of a creepy moron.
You change Googled to fondled. You change pansies to panties. I even had to go to a meeting with HR that one time that you changed ASUS to anus. I'm not sure whether they were more concerned that I was texting the word anus to my boss, or that I worked in digital and owned an ASUS.
There was also that other time when a friend sent me a pic of her wedding dress ahead of her big day. I tried to tell her it was 'art', but I ended up texting her 'arf'. After three attempts, all I'd done was bark at her.
She didn't take it as a compliment. Our diminished friendship is all your fault, because now everytime I see her outfits I tell her they're total arf.
I'd totally had enough after you changed the word pencil to penis. In a text to my dad. So you owe me at least 14 months of therapy bills for that one.
I'm over you. I'm turning you off... Right after I finish this article, because spell check is actually quite helpful when I'm writing an article with one hand on my phone on the tram.
Plus, as a bonus, I'll finally be able to send texts riddled with swearing again. Thank ducking hell.
Oh for ducks sake...
Photo credit: Keeping Up With The Kardashians