I didn't want it. And everyone knew it. I wanted to suffer. To be a technomartyr. To live in the Stone Age. Where people only communicated with each other by grunting and pointing. Because I think I could actually be pretty good at that. What I'm not good at is anything that requires a manual. And patience. Time. Organization. And tender loving care. So essentially, I'm bad at everything. But, especially anything with buttons, wires and a charger.
So of course that's why my husband went out and bought me the iphone 6.
My old unsmart, bimbo, barbie phone, died a slow and painful death. And me constantly complaining about it's slow and painful death was tempting my husband's patience. Which is really saying something. Since he's the logical/researchy sort, he asked someone in the technoliterate field what kind of phone would be best for me. And when he brought up the i phone and was told "that's for old people who don't know how to navigate a phone", he knew it was 'the one'.
All I had to do was accept that I lived in the modern world and get a protective case for it.
Which is easier said than done when you're as stubborn and Neanderthalish as I am. My kids were way more excited about my new phone than me. Not realizing of course that now that I had a phone with a pass code on it that they'd be locked out. And I would have privacy from my kids reading all my texts. Meaning now, my friends and I could now complain about our kids with f-bombs even, via text. Which is obviously what the medium was intended for. Venting.
Except, I'm the world's crappiest texter, even on a world class phone.
It's totally true. I don't check my texts often. And even when I do, I'm famous for mistexting and sending to the wrong recipient. And in my haste to mistext combined with autocorrect I often look inebriated. And I DO NOT drunk text. Ever. What I don't do is talk on my phone. And I don't play games or have any apps, besides instagram. Which I'm on way too often because my new phone has a fantastic camera. And I LOVE to take pictures because all I need to do is point. Grunting is optional. And IG is addictive. I think it's obvious who's fault this is. Clearly it's my husband's. I should call him on it, but that seems like too much work. So I'm just going to phone this one in and call it a draw.
|And this is my Neanderthal approved bamboo case. Of course I instagramed this photo.|
You can feed my addiction....errr...I mean follow me here.