Fir. It is a coniferous tree in the pine family. Think flat needles and pine cones.
For. It is a preposition. Think intended to belong to or suiting purposes or needs, as in “a bike ride for exercise.”
Fur. It is a soft, thick hairy coat. Think mammals and particular animals. Think of women who wear mammals and particular animals.
I can read your mind. I can.
You think I’ve lost it. I’ve gone bananas. You fear I’ve floated down the river with the looniest of loony tunes.
I haven’t. I promise. But I might if I don’t figure out a way to correct my phone’s autocorrect.
Somehow “fir” has taken precedence over “for” on my keyboard. My phone insists on replacing “for” with “fir.”
What’s surprising is that the built-in dictionary chooses “fir” over “fur.” At any rate, I owe “fur” an apology. The word is a thought, not the problem.
Because “for” is a preposition, because prepositions are used by everyone in gazillions of texts worldwide, because I am one of those who uses them, the “fir” replacement is a mega problem accompanied by major frustration.
Had this been a one-blunder wonder, I would not have remembered it. One-blunder wonders make us smile.
We laugh when we catch ourselves–too late–sending texts like, “I’d buy a casket (castle) for you if I could” or “Happy Birthday dead (dear) Mom” or “They sent a mobster (monster) recycling bin.”
It’s even better when I’m on the receiving end of bloopers from others–welcome reminders that I’m not the lone human-human on the planet.
We’re all card-carrying members of AIC (Autocorrect Incorrect Club).
Correct prepositions incorrectly autocorrected are not fun. They are aggravating, not amusing.
My text life goes something like this:
“She is fine fir now,” followed by an apologetic self-autocorrect, “for, not fir.”
“I apologize fir not getting back to you sooner” and then, “for, not fir.”
“Let me know if I can pick up anything fir you fir tomorrow” and yet another self-correction, “for and for, not fir and fir…UGH.”
I could turn it off. I could.
I could go to “Settings, General, Keyboard” and deselect Auto-Correction and uncheck “Check Spelling” for good measure.
I could, but I won’t, which means the function possibly helps me more than I care to admit.
I suppose things could be worse. My dictionary could assume I pronounce “for” as “fer,” and over the edge into Loony Tune River I’d be.
Maybe, just maybe, this whole mess is my own fault. The letters “o” and “i” sit side by side on my keyboard.
Could it be that when I typed “for”, I tapped “i” by mistake enough times to train the dictionary into choosing “fir”? I’ve yet to locate a book entitled, How to Retrain Your Dictionary.
Maybe all I require is Text Messaging for Dummies.
I prefer voice communication over text anytime, any day. I text only because no one answers my calls.
They answer text messages. They answer texts immediately after they didn’t answer my calls.
I could stop texting altogether. I could send out a mass text that says, “No more texting for me. I’ll call you. You call me.”
I could, but I won’t. No one would call.
Text messaging is great for quick exchanges like, “What time tonight?” and “Are you home yet?” and “Call me later.”
I doubt the mastermind behind texting intended it fir–I mean “for”–long, drawn-out, preposition-filled conversations.
I never thought myself a wordy texter, but I guess it’s time to re-think my communication strategy.