Facebook Poke to Facebook Burn

I would like to think that, if I focus on it, I can be quite proficient in the spelling and grammar used in my writing.  I don't think people like grammar nazis that much.  If they do, they gave them a twisted title of endearment.  When it comes down to it, I might be a bit of a grammar nazi, even if it's just in my own head. I recently remembered a traumatic experience that may have set me on my path as a strict language critic.

Like many of my blog-worthy stories, romance returns as a driving factor. Let me set the scene:
Grade 9. Climbing the hill to manhood. Ready for some real romance. Enough hugging and hand holding. Grade 10 girl thinks I'm cute? I'll poke her. On facebook. Like a real man... Right? That's all I really had -- Erica took it from there. She messaged me saying that I had to take her on a date. I was all hers at that point. An older woman with confidence and experience was all I needed to make foolish decisions.  It turns out that "experience" was with my friend just days after our first date.  It was too late, I was already foolish.  We stayed together for a couple months at that time, she taught me a lot.  High school was going to be a complicated place.  When she broke it off with me she was pretty straight forward about it.  I appreciated that.  Still, I was a little heart-fractured.  Where did I turn?  Where it all started.  Facebook.
One dramatic expression to encompass my feelings. One post. One word:
"Dam."


Dam?

A couple hours later, I had a message in the chatroom.  Erica.  Returning for my affection after seeing what she'd done to me no doubt.

"It's spelt 'damn'."

I deleted the post.  I have never misspelt the word since. Probably.

You're welcome,

B.F. Greenough, aka,
Chief Hanky,  The Dang Dumpee