Yesterday Jim declared he was taking a sick day, so he could try and get a doctor’s appointment and some medication for his raging cough. D took Jim’s car to work, and so I needed Jim to drive me to the salon.
I remembered at the last minute that my gas tank was almost empty, so we absolutely had to stop, even though it was going to make me late for my shift. Jim noticed, while pumping the gas, that my tires were low enough that neglecting to fill them with air would be a safety hazard. Bad news when you want to get to work, but the alternative wasn’t pretty either.
He drove us over to the air pump, and as he filled the tires I sent a text message to two of my co-workers, hitting “Send” before I noticed that auto-correct struck again, in perhaps my favorite personal correction ever:
“Gonna be a few minutes late, dying!”
Laughing, I corrected the auto-correct: “NOT dying…FYI!”
One of my co-workers texted me back. “Glad to hear you’re not dying, FYI.”
I probably don’t have to mention how happy I am to be alive and able to tell the story, but I just did.