You're all going to think this is hilarious. I don't own a cell phone.
What's even funnier is that the one and only time I ever did have a "cell" phone was a decade ago, back in 1995. It was a sexy model, too. A big, plastic handset attached by a coil cord to a black, pleather bag the size of my grandmother's beach tote. To make a call, you had set the thing up on the passenger's seat of your yellow, 1982 Ford hatchback and plug it into the cigarette lighter. Then you'd extend the fat, plastic antenna, wait for the power bars to line up, and try to correctly dial a number on the rubbery little keypad.
And be prepared to justify any use of the phone to your mother, who had you on the "emergency only" plan of $3,874.69 per minute, off-peak.
It should come as no surprise that when I left home and turned in my bag phone, I didn't have it high on my list of priorities to acquire a new one.
By the time I did realize cell phones were much cooler than they used to be, my husband came to own of one of today's very coolest communication devices, the
sidekick. I siphoned off enough cool from him to keep me happy for a while.
And besides, every time he hands me his phone to take when I go out, I turn into a retarded person and juggle it like it's a radioactive grenade. "What do I press? Where do I talk? Am I supposed to push this first? What do I do if it rings? What does this do? Where's the antenna???"
Well, laugh no more. I'm getting a cell phone. And I'm going to learn how to use it like the reasonable, intelligent adult I pretend to be. Either that, or it will become a really expensive fashion accessory, which, if it's cool enough, isn't necessarily a bad thing.
I can't wait to knit it a cozy…