Which is why I squeaked in appreciation when I received this little gem from Nutty Cow. Frankly anything that lends a nod to my grammar fascist tendencies, whilst reassuring me I'm not alone in having such tendencies pleases me greatly:
It sums up in a few simple frames a situation I've previously found myself in - as, apparently, judging by the popularity of the above cartoon when whizzed round on email, have the majority of the girls. Being relatively liberal, open-minded kinda gals, we're generally quite agreeable to exchanging a few saucy text messages every now and again with the right chap. But they're not for the inexperienced.
A dirty message whilst one’s on the train home; lying in bed; or even just on the way into a meeting can be enough to perk up a day no end. Get it right and by the time a girl gets home, she'll be so worked up that you might even be able to convince her to do that thing you’ve not yet been brave enough to ask her to do. You could even distract her from the Kurt Geiger sale. Serious stuff.
But get it wrong, and there's little redemption. We don't want old clichés that you've taken from something you saw in some bad porn; and if anything you compose could be confused with something that wouldn't look out of place on Ashley Cole's phone then dear gods, don't. We won’t bother to play again.
But there’s something worse, far worse, than hackneyed material and dodgy photos of greying pants (no, really). What’ll really put us off and have us zoning out and sending half-hearted replies (if any), choosing instead to reach for the hot chocolate and last book in the Twilight series (told you it was bad) is poor spelling and bad grammar.
We’re not totally unreasonable beings, and if your wordsmithery has got us really hot under our collars, we’re unlikely to notice an out of place preposition, or a sneakily split infinitive. But some of us are paid to notice this kinda stuff (and others are just like this), but the second you tell us you want to strike us all over with a feather or that you can’t wait to be their, we’re going to come - not in the way you want us to, but instead over all surly schoolmarm rather than sexy schoolgirl.
Of course, if your mistake is merely an over-excited slip of the fingers and you’ve done enough earlier on to keep our minds occupied and as far from that shopping list as possible, you might be lucky: we might just let the lack of concentration go - so long as you make it up to us once you’ve got through the door… Otherwise, you and your porn are on your own.