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Damn You Autocorrect!

I have always sniffed rather haughtily at people who claim to have made these terrible SMS errors on their phone when using predictive text. I mean, I ALWAYS double-check messages before I send them so have never quite understood why people hit the Send button without a second thought.

The resulting crippling embarrassment is just too awful for words.

And then it happened to me. 

It all began rather innocently. Stephen decided that he would like to have our house revalued now that all of our renovations have been completed, and invited the estate agents that sold us the house 4 years ago to pop in and have a look. Which was all fine and well, except for the fact that my back was killing me and it felt as though Baby NT was trying to kick a hole in each of my kidneys.

Not a problem, says Stephen. He will run a hot bath for me and handle the estate agents on his own.

Beautiful.

So the agents arrive at 6pm and get shown around by Stephen, Kayla is happily playing with the puppies, and I am wallowing in the bath reading the latest Entrepreneur Magazine (and by that, I do of course mean the celebrity section of YOU) when I hear the agents chatting outside the bathroom window about the fact that Stephen does all the cooking in our family. And it hits me. Six o clock - Masterchef is on and I forgot to tape it!

In something that can only be described as a scene from National Geographic where the whale suddenly breaches out of the water and lunges to the side, I heave myself to the left, grab my cellphone and hurriedly type out the word "Masterchef" and SMS it to Stephen. I then slide mercifully back into water, safe in the knowledge that Stephen will quickly step inside and PVR the show for his hormonal wife.

I hear his phone beep outside the bathroom window. But strangely enough, instead of the flurry of action I was expecting, it all goes rather quiet.

"Right," says Stephen sounding a little croaky. "That's that then. You've seen the garden and the renovations, so let me see you out. Thanks SO much for coming."

Silence.

"Oh," says one of the agents, sounding a bit confused. " Can we take a quick look at what you've done to the rest of the house?"

Silence.

"Sure," says Stephen, sounding a little reluctant, before whisking them inside on what sounds like a rather hurried tour of the bedrooms.

I was slightly baffled. Why was he acting so strangely? What was the rush? And why was he bloody well not taping Masterchef for me?

Sighing with annoyance at the fact that I have to do EVERYTHING myself (other than cook supper, do the grocery shopping and drop Kayla at school in the mornings), I perform my mind-boggling-whale-breaching-side-heaving manoeuvre for the second time, grab my cell phone and type a second SMS to Stephen. When I see something a little odd. Instead of saying "Masterchef!" which I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I typed into my phone, I had sent Stephen an SMS saying "Masturbated!" It was all too horrific for words! Let's just say that Stephen is not a huge fan of my recent policy of CNMAD (Come Near Me And Die) and thought this might be my not-so-subtle way of telling him that his days in the desert might just be over.

Sadly not.

What was I to do? Send him another message saying "By the way, please also tape Masterchef?" or "Sorry, sent that to the wrong person" or "Damn You Autocorrect"? My head hurt just thinking about it.

Turns out that I needn't have worried. Stephen obviously knows his wife all too well and had picked up on the fact something had gone terribly wrong - he was just trying not to howl with laughter in front of the estate agents. I was crimson with the embarrassment of it all, but was exceptionally relieved that the errant SMS had gone to Stephen and not to someone else. And Kayla couldn't understand why her father kept making jokes about how that night's episode of Masterchef had a Happy Ending, unlike SOME people...

I have also disabled the Autocorrect function on my phone!

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