Fuck. The missus went to the doctor yesterday. Got the status report (all fine) and texted back a reply.
Or so I thought.
This morning, I get an earful for my lack of caring. Protest that I had replied. "Well, I didn't get a reply." Check my phone. True as fuck, there it is in my Drafts folder. My fat fingers obviously did something I didn't expect.
Now I'm in the dogbox again for no fucking reason at all. And it's going to cost me an obscene amount of money, because I've now decided that I can't put off replacing my phone any longer. I'm going to have to buy something with a more usable keypad.