“Mom!” exclaimed my daughter in surprise. “You finally got a phone for adults!”
She was holding a slim, rectangular flat device that was plugged into my computer. “Wait, what is this?” she asked, peering at the screen which she could not get to come on.
“That would be my external hard drive that I back up my computer on.”
“Oh.” She was quite disappointed. “I thought you finally got a REAL phone.”
No, I did not finally get a real phone. My phone can only be used for talking and taking messages. I hate walking through a store or restaurant filled with zombie-like creatures staring in thrall to their phones and caressing the screen. I hate it when I can’t tell the crazy people anymore because everybody walks around yelling now, either through their bluetooth devices or at the voices in their heads. Now they just all look crazy to me.
I suspect that if I got one of those phones, I, too, would join the zombie horde. Must. Resist.