The trauma of texting . . .

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It’s late at night and I’m texting.

The screen’s getting blurry but I have to go on. After hours of stewing I must apologise to a friend for a note written in haste.

It wasn’t that I said something rude or even doubtful. There was no ill-placed smiley face. Not even a hint of double entendre.

The thing is . . . I . . . um, well . . . I abbreviated, I dropped whole letters, I replaced words with numbers and I used spelling that would make a more particular person shudder.

Even now I cringe.

My friend has replied “no prob”.

I bite my lip. She hasn’t used any capitals, no apostrophe to hint at a whole half word somehow lost in the ether of texting.

A shiver goes down my spine. I know texting is meant to be fast, a time saver, making my life more efficient. But it gr8s. Oops. Sorry.

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