Displaced

K (talking about her downstairs neighbor): She doesn’t use a computer. And she doesn’t have a cellphone.
[tiny pause]
R: When was the last time anyone saw her alive?

The auto-complete saga continues:

I type, “Heya!” My phone pulls up, “Hats!” I like the enthusiasm and I do love hats, but M will think I’m weird sending her that at 7AM.

I type, “YES.” My phone types, “GET.”

Yes, all right. I’ll get a hat. I’ll put one on right now. Will you let me call the shots if I’m wearing a hat, you ##(*@#! phone?

I was trying to text R (who’s on a train to Baltimore) about how fantastic Tina Fey looked presenting for the screenplay awards and my phone suggested “Tuna Dry”. I hate my phone.