I heart texts.


I hate the telephone, I really do. It always rings at the wrong time and my daughter mixes the handsets up with the TV remotes so I can never find the buggers. Plus, I have the attention span of a flea, with a nasty tendency to do something else while talking on the phone (the laundry, my e-mails, sudoku), half-listening until the moment I realize I have only half-heard a major life-altering confession ('my husband's gay,' 'I gambled away the advance', etc). Which is bad. Maybe it was all those years in advertising, but I do believe that a pithy exchange of information covers nearly all situations, with the possible exception of asking really sick or depressed people how they're feeling, or sending thank yous for expensive gifts or large sums of money. In these few (and relatively rare) cases, a text can appear inadequate, even when accompanied by a whole slew of smiley face emoticons. But otherwise, texts have the benefit of cutting to the chase, dispensing with the waffle, reducing life to names, places, times, yesses and nos: I'm pregnant. We're finished. The book stinks. COME HOME NOW.

All so fantastically clear and concise.

Even better, you almost never see an adverb in a text.

BlogMeg Rosoff4 Comments