Fast forward a decade (I'm telling my age, ya'll), and everybody has a cell phone. I mean fucking everybody. Ty, precious, darling, 7-year-old Ty, has a cell phone. Now, I completely understand his mom's reason. Cell phones do carry a lot of safety bonuses when your kid is away from you. But, still, you get what I'm saying. It's not just for Exxon Execs anymore.
For the first few years of the cell phone revolution, they were pretty basic. Then Dobson started offering something called "Elk City Breeze," which alloted for free minutes to numbers from your town or some such shit. Overnight almost everyone I knew had a phone. And with more phones came fancier phones. It was probably about 7 years ago when the kids I worked with at the Pizza Hut showed me the text messaging. At first it totally bewildered me. I didn't understand if you put in the area code or not. Damn frustrating, if you ask me.
Then my father grew convinced that I would be abducted and/or raped and/or killed by a nomadic pedestrian walking by my house. Not some guy he had spotted with a record of such bloody behavior, but rather, just any man who happened to be on foot. So, eventually in his anxiety to promise my safety, he got me a cell phone. Plus, he could find out where I was ANYTIME he wanted, which was often, so it was on. I tinkered around with all this text messaging, but I always preferred just calling over the mass airway communication.
Now I know some folks who can text message so quickly it is as though their brain waves are somehow buzzing onto the phone's screen. Hell, I'm sure there are phones that offer such a freaky service. And these people just LOVE the text messaging.
Not long ago one of these tech-smart junkies taught a country boy I know all about this predictive texting. There are certainly a lot of perks to this predictive texting, I know. I can't seem to figure it out, but those who can tell me the phone basically does the texting for you. Well, I already think George Bush has put a bug inside my brain, so I don't want a machine just guessing what message I want to send, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!
Back to the story. You know I get a little off track when I start thinking about George bugging my brain, transcribing all my thoughts while Dick Cheney cackles like a witch in the background. I'm not saying it was my husband and I'm not saying it wasn't. I am close enough to the situation to know that when this man's wife received this particular text message from him, she didn't know what in the hell he was talking about.
The phone buzzed or twinkled or spit out some rap tune or whatever hell it does when it's letting you know you've received a text.
She picks it up and opens the message.
I want to duck yolk.
Her head tilted to the side, the same way a dog does to his panting owner or a baby to his babbling grandparent, she was bewildered. She called her husband, who was proud of his predictive texting. After all, she didn't even know where to get duck eggs or what he wanted to do with them if she did know where to get them
Well, he didn't want breakfast or a bird. He was in the mood for something else all together. Something of a romantic, martial nature, if you dig.
So, for all of you who are pushing 30 or have already topped that hill, be careful when you are using the predictive text. These days we can use our phones for just about anything. Rowdy has one of those fancy, schamancy iPhones. That son of a bitch will carrying around all your favorite tunes, let you check weather anywhere on the globe, give you driving miles from anywhere so that bull haulers don't pad up the bill on ya and even connect you to "that world wide web," as Rowdy calls it. But, there are some task you might need to do manually. Otherwise you might end up with a apron-clad woman in the kitchen as opposed to the in-the-buff seductress in the bedroom that you were hoping for.