I really like to text message. If someone asks me what my hobbies are I invariably say texting and wallpapering. Eating peanut butter as a hobby comes a close third because there are only so many seconds I’ll ever have on this planet so relish nothing more than spooning great lumps of it straight from a jar onto the middle of my tongue and then licking vigorously so every last sticky morsel rubs off. Sometimes, when I’m having a particularly good day, I find I can actually text, wallpaper, and lick all at the same time. But if someone held a colt 45 to my head, said I had 30 seconds to live and I had to pick one, then I’d definitely text. I’d type a moving epitaph in my dying seconds, something simple like “Good-bye Guido, thanks for all the chorizo.”
Never before did I ever think I’d be writing so enthusiastically about my humble thumbs. Physically I’ve not go that much going for me in the looks department but I’ve got to tell you my thumbs are pretty great. I think they could possibly be the fastest texting thumbs in the whole of South London if not the whole of the UK. If there were speed competitions, I’d win. I should probably carry a donor card. On the day I finally get run over by a psychotic London taxi driver crossing the Old Kent Road I’ll give full permission for everybody to forget about fast tracking my vital organs into a cool box. Just save the thumbs. I consider them my gift of life to another soul. However there will be strings attached to say that transplantation can only take place if the recipient agrees to undergo intensive sessions of texting etiquette, including a promise to limit the use of emojis.
Guido hates to text and he hates reading my texts. Though, as a precaution, he does keep me on vibrate just in case there’s an emergency. He tells me he’s way too busy chopping garlic to ever answer me. He uses his phone – and get ready for this one folks – as an actual telephone which he talks into. Ha! Ha! Ha! Can you believe this guy he’s hilarious? On very rare occasions, usually during half time at a Millwall Football match, he’s been known to reply but they’re the shortest text messages on the planet. Picture it. There I’ll be, tapping my heart out to him about some interior design trauma. I use 10 words when I could use 3 so my Part 1 text message to spark his interest will be swiftly followed by an enthralling Part 2. And you know what his response is?
That’s it! Not even a “x” kiss. Sometimes he avoids text of any kind and instead he’ll just insert some random emoji of the most inappropriate kind. Like a smiley face with dark glasses on, or even worse, a thumbs up sign.
So imagine my surprise last night when I was home upstairs in the loft leafing through the latest edition of Homes and Gardens when my phone bleeped. It was Guido texting me from the café kitchen downstairs. The message read, and I quote:-
“Hey sexy it’s firstname.lastname@example.org. Paella almost ready. Plenty spicy chorizo as U requested Y not cum down and #chew it – if you know what I mean? 🙂