If you looked at the texts between The Mister and me, you’d be bored to tears because it’s exactly what you’d expect. Boring married parent stuff, with loving, sexy bits and occasional rants.
You’d find that almost every day, there’s a message from him with the same exact words, en route. Whether he’s at work or school or on an errand with the children, he lets me know when he’s on his way home. That’s so nice.
You know how when you started using written communication en masse with people, you realized they can’t spell?
Okay, but then there’s the flip side where you’ve read the word, but you don’t know how to say the word?
Well, Everyone In My House Says In Rout And It Drives Me Absolutely Fucking Bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S
I’m still trying to get them to pronounce syrup the same way I do, as well as teaching them they couldn’t care less, because could care less implies they care some, and I don’t need the added pressure of en route!
It’s on root — onrootonrootonroot. Not sometimes, all the time! It’s just on root, and like you don’t get up and pee in the on suit, you are not in rout.
There, I feel better now, don’t you?
Gah, at least they don’t type it out as on root. There is that.
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