Experiences of an inept texter

A few months ago, a friend of mine introduced to me to the novel concept of texting (and yes, he did look at me with pity – and a small degree of fear – that I, the reasonably intelligent person that I am, had yet to embrace this particular technology), which I have come to realize has both pros and cons.
Texting is fun, because it allows you to send a brief message to a friend or loved one, and it means “I’m thinking of you, happy face, but I don’t really wish to talk to you”. The person at the receiving end feels good that they are featured in their friend’s thoughts, yet feels no obligation to engage in conversation, though may return the message using some ridiculous emoticon or abbreviation that is to be interpreted “I am glad that we are friends and that you are thinking of me, wine glass, heart, thumbs up sign”.
My personal favourite is taking a scene from the BBC office, whereby Tim, who loves to ride and deride his colleague Gareth, calls him up (on his giant, dorky cell phone which is ensconced in a ridiculous ‘80s holster) and when Gareth answers, Tim simply says “cock” and then hangs up. This is fun to text to people randomly. And then hope they get the reference. I am also fond of “u suck”.
The downside of this is that sometimes texting seems like a good idea, at the time, which in one particular experience was after I had had two glasses of wine, but really is not. Such was the case when I was in Yorkville, Ontario a couple of months ago. I must say, in addition to being slightly tipsy, I was also suffering from an unfortunate mixture of giddiness at not being at work while knowing that my friends were, and jet lag. I wished to rub this in their face by saying “I’m in T.O., bitches”, however, finding the periods and commas proved tiring and cumbersome, so I fired off this glorious text, thinking it hilarious. What my friends received was “I’m in to bitches”. I was puzzled to receive a couple of text replies such as “why?” and “what happened?”. Clearly my friends were idiots, asking me what had happened. I had booked my vacation, gotten on a plane and was with Michael in Toronto: that is what had happened. Surely I had told them about this. It was not until some time later that I realized that they thought I had become a lesbian whilst traversing Ontario with Michael.
The other thing that puzzles me about texting is the voracity and dexterity with which some of my chums can bang these suckers out. After wrestling with my cell phone this past weekend to get out a 7 word message to a friend, I was stunned to receive one back in mere moments which was approximately a paragraph long, did not use contractions and used italics to underscore issues that the sender felt were important. I felt embarrassed and impotent, not unlike George Bush trying to read a children’s book about a goat.
Such is my texting experience thus far, at which, sad to say, I appear to be sorely lacking and slow in learning. Perhaps it is that I am missing opposable thumbs, which has proved difficult in the past. But at least now, when you receive “cock” on your phone, you will understand, somewhat, the meaning behind it.