The most loathsome thing about his phone was not that it was way better
than mine, with its built-in camera, color screen and flippiness.
Jessica Burgess
Clearly Unedited
No. What I hated most about it was that it was actually a piece of junk,
always dropping calls right when I was in the midst of yelling at him
(and he is a guy who needs to be yelled at a LOT).
"So don't ever do that again!" I'd be happily bellowing into my phone.
"And another thing! Were you aware you left the milk on the counter, and
– hey, are you even listening to me?" Then I'd look at the screen. Call
dropped. Dropped in mid-bitch!
Not acceptable.
So after months of pestering, he finally agreed to buy a new one.
At the cellphone store, there were myriad lovely options, all affordably
priced within the range of $250 to $1 kabillion.
He got that glazed, unsure-what-to- reach-for-first look he always gets
when he's around small electronic objects. I imagine it's the same face
he'd have in the Playboy Mansion.
But there was no time to dawdle. "Pick a phone," I ordered. "And pick
one that works. Also make sure it has a better camera, too. The one on
your old phone made me look fat."
He would not be rushed, though, as he wandered down the aisle, fondling
phones tenderly. I stifled an urge to slap them and tell them to stay
away from my man.
The competition was eventually narrowed down to two. He had a tough time
deciding against the slidey one (I can see how such gymnastic ability
would be attractive), but in the end picked the ultra-slim one (of
course – men are so shallow).
All that matters to me, though, is that the reception is clear – and
loud.
When Jessica's boyfriend's phone rings, the theme to Sealab 2021
plays. Commiserate with her at jburgess@quickdfw.com.
