This was my dear, sweet cell phone for the past couple of years:
She’s been with me since before I was married. I’ve carried her many places, and proudly whipped her out in front of people with fancy iphones, droids, and blackberries.
See the broken screen? The chipped paint? In her last few days, she would sporadically turn off and on. And then she would make funny hissing noises. I didn’t care. I saw past her outward beauty and malfunctions. We had a special bond, that ole’ flip phone and me.
I’m sad to say that she croaked a few days ago. She now rests in my diaper bag. PB uses her to make very important phone calls to his lady friends.
A couple of days ago, I had to make the dreaded trip to the Verizon store. I walked in and went up to the counter. I told the salesman I was looking for a new cell phone.
“Great, come around here and let me show you what we’ve got on display. We’ve got some really nice touch screen……………”
“Sir, what I’m looking for will not be on your display. It’s most likely in your storage room, collecting cobwebs and dust. You may not even have them in stock. You better hope they are. If they’re not, I will melt into a puddle of tears right here in the floor and throw a kicking-screaming fit.”
Or something like that.
An eternity later, I walked out with this tough guy:
I feel like such a bad-butt carrying this thing. Sometimes, when I’m in public and I answer my phone, I could almost promise you that I hear ‘Bad to the Bone’ playing in the background and I suddenly feel the need to wear a leather jacket and drive a Trans-Am.
She reminds me of another phone I used to know:
Ah, the Zack Morris phone. If only they still made these.
I’m working on some technical things with my blog this week. It’s almost as easy to figure out as my new, rockin’ phone………
(Make sure to read that last sentence with a wee bit of sarcasm).
Have a blessed Tuesday!
