My friend, let's call her Francine, is the worst typist.
Which is funny because she's a self-confessed computer geek who spends all day in front of a computer screen at work, then all night in front of her home computer either working, or searching for new cat videos. She knows every cat video ever posted on You Tube.
When Francine is typing, she types really loud and really fast. Everyone in the next town knows when Francine is chatting someone because her fingers are like ninjas, karate chopping the keyboard. Oh, I should talk – I type loud, too. My excuse is learning the newspaper business on an old Underwood manual typewriter. Man, you had to hammer those puppies, and then throw the return with muscles you didn't even know you had. I had a left arm like Thor. I had muscles in my crap.
With all this computer experience, though, Francine can't type to save her ass. Her typing is an ongoing joke around the office because what she's trying to say is invariably not what comes through her fingers. Sometimes you can figure out what she's trying to say. Sometimes you can't. And sometimes it's just plain funny.
Take last night, for example.
Last night I was in a baaaaaaaaaaaaaad mood. So bad, I found a picture of a growling dog and posted it on Facebook, and wrote this:
Am particularly grumpy right now but it helps to growl. Grrrrrrrrrrrr.
Right away, Francine wrote this: why so frumpy??
When I saw that, I was BUAHAHAHAHAHAing all over the kitchen. When I stopped laughing, for, like, two seconds, I wrote this: ARE YOU CALLING ME FRUMPY?
Then I was BUAHAHAHAHAHAing again, until I had to run to the bathroom so I wouldn't pee my pants.
Later on, Francine added another couple of comments, trying to explain that it is only her typing skills that suck, not her tact.
She wrote this:
you said you were grump YOU know what a bad typis I am how about a nice big glas af arm milk
A nice big glas af arm milk?