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Hoping for a texting-typo-free new year

December 28, 2011|Rhonda Dragomir | Journal columnist

As another year wanes, I have no doubt whatsoever about what my New Year’s resolutions should be, nor which one should top the list. I simply must begin to read my text messages before I touch “send.”

After my sister-in-law left town from her Christmas visit, I sent a simple greeting to her mother-in-law. I texted, “Say hi to Nelda for me.” Now, I’ll admit Nelda is an old-fashioned name, and maybe the modern message prediction programs on cell phones should not be expected to recognize it. But I blanched at her response.

“Who is beleaguered?” she replied. I had no idea what had happened, nor how my loving message should have become so garbled and twisted into a negative mode! In case you’re definition-challenged, “beleaguered” means “harassed, hemmed in, or under severe pressure.” Nelda is a dear, elderly widow, and I found the implication disturbing.

I hurriedly typed in my reply, this time with more care. Again, I typed N-e-l-d-a, and my idiotic phone unashamedly changed it to “beleaguered.” Thankfully, I believe my sister-in-law has a good sense of humor and enough tact not to reveal my faux pas. I’m beginning to think my smart phone is actually stupid.

Taking note of my phone’s tendency to speak for itself, I caught several other near-errors. My own first name was changed to “ruins” in one message, and my husband’s name became “fake” in another. I typed that I was “looking forward” to seeing someone, and my interpreter changed it to “looming forward.” Not only does my electronic friend completely garble the messages; it seems to enjoy doing so with a decidedly negative tone.

Another message, sent without proofreading, said “tell Jim for me.” It was supposed to say, “tell him for me,” referring to a mutual friend. A confused recipient replied, “Who’s Jim?” Alas, now my phone was making up new friends and introducing them into my conversations. It must have felt contrite over its attempts to alienate my real friends and instead was inventing imaginary ones.

I’m not alone in this conundrum. A cousin reported on Facebook that her daughter had sent a texted picture of a beautiful flower arrangement received from a thoughtful husband. Trying to be supportive, my cousin texted “Awwww.” I think only women try to text that word. She was highly amused when her daughter asked why she had sent the word “sewer.”

Only once did I see a glimmer of hope. My daughter’s name is Jana, and when I sent the message to my husband that our newly married lovebird would be coming for dinner, it renamed her “lamb.” Sewer — that is, awwww in text language.

I’m in my early 50s. I’ll eschew telling my actual age, as is my womanly right. I’m no spring chicken, but I’m also not old enough to call smart-phone technology new-fangled. Many of my contemporaries have refused to text at all. I’ll never text as fast as my daughter, but I’ll never again send a message without the old-fashioned custom of proofreading.

Now, if I could just get the hang of touch screens.

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