You see, last week or so one of my ubercool Mom friends called me to see if I wanted to get together for a playdate. (And by playdate, of course I mean an excuse to get the kids together so that we can share gossip and cocktails by the pool.) Not being one to turn down a “playdate”, I forced the children into their swim suits while gleefully shouting, “Mommy has a playdate! Hurry! Hurry! Mommy has a playdate!”
Have you ever noticed how ladies’ swim suits don’t have pockets? What is a gal to do when she needs to grab her cell phone and has no where to carry it? Well, if you have enough cleavage, you can slip that badboy in the top of your swim suit and rush out the door. (An important thing to note here is that you must remember that you did this. That is like really a very important part of it.)
After great gossip and a cocktail or so, I am happy, relaxed and enjoying the day out. Which is about the time Gabriella insisted she just HAD to have her goggles RIGHT THEN or really bad things would happen. Being the nice (and now happy and relaxed) mom that I am, I leaned over to hand them to her from the side of the pool.
*splash* There went the phone. I mean, I probably could have saved it, but that would have meant I spilled my drink. I mean, come on people, the phone never had a chance under those conditions! I grabbed it up before it was even fully submerged and raced to a table to dry it off. I took it apart and shook out any water that may be in it. I begged it to work.
It took about 24 hours, but she began to work again. (Yes, I called my phone “she.” Problems?) I clapped and giggled and kissed my phone thanking the gods of cell phone technology that I did not kill her. Yet.
Two days later I am doing housework and slip the phone into my pocket. After a couple of hours, I realize I had not heard it ring. (You must understand that is very rare for my phone.) I took her out of my pocket and saw blankness staring back at me. Surely, I must’ve turned her off. I tried to power her back on. Nothing. Nothing at all. No flicker. No flash. No illuminated keys. No sign of life.
Noooooooooooo! I wailed. Come back to me! I decided the battery was just dead and tried to charge her up. Hours later…nothing. When Clint walked in I shoved the phone at him and wailed, “Fix her! Bring her back to me!” It was even beyond his skill.
“I think it might be dead. I mean, really dead.”
“No, she is not, “ I insisted. “She worked. Remember, she fought through the water and was ALIVE! It is just a glitch. She’ll be okay. Right? She’ll be okay. She has to be. All of my phone numbers and pictures and information are stored in her brain. She HAS TO BE OKAY!”
Every few hours or so for the next couple of days I would pick her up and try to turn her on. Nothing. Until late one night while I was working alone in the office I glanced over at her with sadness. I’ll try one more time I thought.
I reached over and tried to power her up. First, the number 5 became illuminated. Then the bottom 2 rows of numbers lit up. And then…then…I hear those beautiful words: “Hello Moto”
“HELLO! HELLO MOTO! Ohhh, MOTO!” I excitedly exclaimed as I watched her message my Word Up greeting.
And then she flickered.
And then she faded.
And then….then she went black. Dark. Nothing.
“MOTO! Noooooooooooooo!! Come back! Come back to me!”
Brandon walked in from the family room where he was watching a movie and asked, “What in the world is going on in here?”
“She was alive. She showed life! She said ‘Hello Moto’ to me. I swear, she was alive.”
Brandon just shook his head and walked away.
Since that night, there has been no sign of life at all. Not one flickering key. No illuminated 5. Silence. Darkness. Emptiness.
Clint continues to tell me to give it up and accept my phone is dead. I tell him it might just need some more time to heal. Maybe she will come back to me.
Brandon tells me it is past time to call the time of death on her. I tell him he is just a cruel quitter.
I refuse! Every so often, I still will try to power her on. Willing her to show me some sign of life. I am not ready to let her go. Not my phone with EVERY PHONE NUMBER I HAVE IN THE WORLD on it.
I’m pretty sure that my refusal to let my phone go and insisting that maybe, just maybe she might actually speak those two words again has frightened Clint to the point where I know he was up late last night with a pen, paper and flashlight hastily scribbling out his own living will to ensure he does not get the Cell Phone Treatment should something happen to him.
Please. Like I would get that excited over him saying “Hello Moto.” I mean, that would just be WEIRD!