I was having dinner with a few friends on Friday night and I asked one of them to help me identify a bird I had seen earlier in the week. She was a bird enthusiast and possessed a wealth of knowledge about local fowl.
“It was small and white,” I said. “Sort of like a compact duck.”
“With a black stripe on its face,” I replied.
“No clue. I’d google it.”
I retrieved my iPhone from my coat pocket and googled what I thought was white ducks of Rhode Island.
While I waited for my search results to appear, our waitress approached and leaned in to take my drink order. She stopped short, caught a glimpse of my phone’s screen and burst into an uncontrollable giggle. I looked down at my iPhone and was met with roughly a dozen images of penises in various states of repose.
My iPhone autocorrected duck to dick.
Normally, I would have felt the need to explain and thus dig a deeper hole but this time I looked directly at the waitress and said, “We’re trying to agree on my Timber profile pic. Did you happen to spot a favorite?”
Her response was priceless. “Dicks really aren’t my thing. I’m swiping left.”