RX: "Shootin' Buddy called while we were out."
Me: "There's nothing on the answering machine. Wait, my cell phone is beeping. He left voicemail. Why does he leave voicemail? I don't even know how to work it. I hate voicemail. I barely like talking on the phone. I like to see people with my eyes and talk to them with my mouth."
RX: "You spend half your day communicating with people on the internet."
Me: "That's different. That's writing."
RX: "You could text him."
Me: (Getting increasingly red-faced and agitated) "No! If I am going to write to someone, I am going to write to them. In complete sentences. With punctuation. I am going to use the English language like Shakespeare and Milton by-gawd intended for it to be used, and I am damned well going to make it sit up and jump through little flaming hoops while I am at it! I am not going to be reduced to poking at buttons on a cell phone with my thumbs, turning out crap that looks like it was disgorged by an illiterate devolved protosimian fifth grader!" (*pant*pant*)
RX: "That's going on the internet. If you don't put it there, I will."