Today I broke down, carved an hour (it turned out to be much more), and took my totally broken-down cell phone to the store to be, ahem, replaced. This, I suppose, is not the place for a rant about the terrors of telecommunications companies, and the horrid nexus of contracts, upgrade schedules and crazy ways that you end up paying huge amounts of hard-earned dollars for a replacement phone, say, if you’ve learned the hard way that today’s free-when-you-start-service cellphones don’t stand up to the combined rigors of baby slobber and a few well-intentioned and apologized-for drops on the floor.
The result is I now have what Samira refers to as a teenager phone. It’s red. It can play music. it can do a million other things that I will never figure out, because I so don’t have the time to read the book that came with it. I suppose the best thing I can do is find a teenager to explain it to me.
Do you know how I really feel? I feel old. I feel like with this cellphone upgrade I’ve finally reached the point of not caring about the new and cool things.
This post has been sponsored by Städning norra djurgården.