So there I was, about to text while driving to visit my family. In my mind, it was (literally) a no-brainer. My text message was going to be simple: “10.” The holiday traffic on the freeway wasn’t that bad, and the thunderstorm was turning into just a heavy downpour. Why not, I thought.
“One can survive everything nowadays, except death, and live down anything, except a good reputation.”
—Oscar Wilde
I met my wife’s icy, incredulous gaze as she stared first at the phone, then at me. Proving that there might yet be hope for man, I handed her the phone. “You text,” I said.
“Text whom?” she asked.
“My brother. Just reply to his SMS.”
“How do I do that?”
Leaning over, I said, “Press the red phone button, and then look for messages.”
“Like this envelope-looking thing?”
“Yes.”
“How do I reply?”
“Press the menu button.”
“This one?”
I shift my gaze over. “Yes,” I replied.
“What do I tell him?”
“10.”
“10 what?”
“Just ‘10.’”
“The numbers aren’t coming out.”
“You have to push the <alt> key.”
“Okay. And how do I actually send the message?”
“Press the trackball button.”
“Oh. Got it!”
My wife and I have identical phones. I should have told her to text, “2.”