I have the worst luck of anyone I know when it comes to cell phones. Honestly. I don't believe in coincidences, or superstitions or the like, but my track records with cell phones is so unbelievable that I simply can't believe I have any responsibility in the matter. I have dropped, dipped, dunked, and frozen too many. That's it. It's time to write a book.
Chapter 1:
The one that was baptized....
This chapter will tell of the reverse baptism of my phone that, rather than testified of a new life, revealed a possessed hard drive that was prone to text and call people in another language and couldn't be stopped until the battery was removed.
Chapter 2:
The one that was frozen...
This will recount the tale of the one I couldn't find for a day or so until I realized it was frozen to my driveway under a sheet of ice near my car's driver side door.
Chapter 3:
The one that ate my lunch...
Obviously suited to be written in Spanish, I will have to be sure to include the phone that died from asphyxiation in a bowl of guacamole as I blindly pounded it deeper and deeper into the luscious green goop with each chip that went searching for dip while the bowl of guacamole was under my desk.
Chapter 4:
The one that took the route of my dead goldfish...
Everyone has had a phone fall from their pocket...but not all of them land in a portable johnny on the spot. Despite the utter repulsive, disgustingness of this scenario, it had to be recalled to life as we were waiting for a very important phone call shortly after this happened.
Chapter 5:
The one that tried to buy its own case...
Today takes the "most recent" award as my phone plunged to the bottom of an open quart of semi-gloss polyurethane. It sank so quickly without a splash that I was not sure it had actually fallen into the can. After check the surrounding area I glanced into the can, only to spy the little red light flashing me an alert that I had received a text. Sigh. I wasn't sure if it would damage the varnish, so I had to remove it. I was able to rescue the memory card, so I still have my pictures, and my favorite ring tone from my sister Katrina.
So, I don't deserve insults if I don't answer my phone or return your texts. Please don't take it personally. I am not.
If this book goes over well, I may write a sequel about the gloves I threw off the ski lift to prepare to get off, or my earbuds I planted in Nutella, my wedding rings I hid under the mattress, and the retainers I stuffed down the heat vent...all in my sleep. It should be a stellar encore.
Merry Christmas.
Dear Santa,
I've been very good...and I could use a new phone.
Love,
Amy
P.S. Don't worry. I save all of my old phones that survive so I can reactivate them as my new ones are consistently assassinated. I won't be out of touch too long.
