The cell phone bill came today. It was so big that it filled up the whole mailbox and made everything else all squished and bent. It is approximately one inch thick. We’re talking some major deforestation here. In fact, the metered postage on the bill was $2.53. You know you need to be worried when your bill is so large that it takes $2.53 to mail it! No, I haven’t opened it. No way. Heads are going to roll.But not mine. I have been good this month. I try to only need to talk to people after 9:00 p.m., and as we have an unlimited text messaging plan, I have whole conversations via text message. Now, I really don’t like to complain, but I have to vent just a little bit here. DK noticed last week that his phone was not receiving good reception. So he swapped out the card from his phone into my phone, and took mine to work. My phone is already what I would maybe call “second generation.” In the same sense that Cain and Abel were second generation…namely, they came after the very first generation. Ever. So when I say that my cell phone is second generation, what I mean is, it is from the generation of cell phone right after the brick phones…the kind where you had to wear a back pack that contained a power generator and a three-foot antenna. And yet it still works better than DK’s phone, which actually quit entirely while I was at the courthouse on Tuesday.
When it quit, I began rummaging through the house for another cell phone in which to house the “spirit” of my deceased one. Dillon found me Casey’s old phone. It started out to be a good phone, but once a couple of Christmases ago, one of the kids (who prefers to remain anonymous) threw up in the car on the way to Grandma’s. Said vomit got all over Dillon’s jacket, and when we reached Grandma’s, we tossed the jacket into the washer. Unfortunately, the cell phone was stowed away in the pocket. Miraculously, the phone still works. But it makes me sound like I am underwater. And not in an endearing, Spongebob Squarepants sort of way, either.
But let me just say…I don’t ask for much when it comes to a cell phone. I am willing to endure the aquatic sound quality. I am even willing to carry around the “second generation.” Mostly what I care about is the texting. I teach the 16-18-year-old girls at church, and texting and Facebook are my primary methods of communication. So I decided I could just make do with the old Casey phone. Until today, when I realized that the phone, which Casey bought from a European seller on eBay, has Swedish as its native language, and all the predictive spelling is in Swedish. Instead of “Wow, that’s awesome!” I get “Rädda barnen!” (Save the children!) “I’m here to pick you up from track” turns into “Jag är snyggare naken.” (I am better-looking naked.) You can see why at this point one might lapse into uncomfortable texting silence.
I did figure out how to type in the word “yes,” however. So when one of my “girls” texted today, it went something like this:
“So, Sis. McD., do you think I am old enough to date a returned missionary?”
I had no option here. “Yes.”
“Cool! I’ll tell my mom you said that. He is really cute. I want to bring him over so you can meet him. You can make us some cookies!”
Me: “Yes.”
“Wow…you’re sure talkative today.” ☺
“Yes.”
In the words of my cell phone, “hjälp!”
