Autocorrect – the Perfect Scapegoat
I can’t shut off my Autocorrect. There seems to be some kind of weird reset to default feature that does not allow me to keep it permanently quashed.
I should probably explain that I am not talking about the Autocorrect on my phone. That one works fine. In fact, I prefer to leave it on so I don’t have to worry about typing apostrophes in my contractions.
The Autocorrect to which I am referring has been following me around, kindly amending my statements for about five years now. Yes, it appears that Dimples has assigned herself to be my own personal Autocorrect. Usually she corrects my memory of things. This is not the kind of Autocorrect I would like. When she is right, it is just plain annoying, and when she is wrong it is also plain annoying. And I can’t click on an x to refuse her version. Or change her settings.
I could happily survive without the Dimples’ version of Autocorrect, but I do wish the verbal portion of my brain had autocorrect. Although much maligned, it can be a pretty handy tool. When it works, it’s great. When it doesn’t work, its pretty darn funny.
You are probably familiar with the website Damn You Autocorrect. This is my go-to Favorite when I am in a funk. It invariably makes me laugh so hard I cry. I don’t care if some of them are made up. I just like imagining the two people on either end of those text messages.
My linguistic goofs are never that funny. They are usually just awkward. But if I had Autocorrect, I would either have less goofs or more comedic moments. I’m good with that.
I really like the idea of being able to blame Autocorrect when I say the wrong thing. “Oh, did I say ‘When is your baby due? Stupid autocorrect! WhatIMeant2say was ‘Is your Mercedes blue?’ …
“No, Dimples, of course I didn’t say that woman dresses like a skank. I meant like a skunk. Yep, every Halloween… Stupid Autocorrect.”