“Here,” Mark said as he handed me his Treo, “ask Nate and Jess what time they want to come over for lunch. I’m going to take a shower.”
“But it’s like 8:30 in the morning! I’m not calling anyone at 8:30 in the morning!” What is wrong with this dude?
Here is the thing. I don’t text.
I fumbled my way around until I finally found the… text messaging center? Apparently, Mark thought this was entertaining and did not get in the shower like he said.
“Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you be cleaning yourself?”
“No, this is way too entertaining… go ahead and text them.”
Ugh. What a nerd. I began my text…
Dear Nate and Jess, what time would you like to come over for lunch
“Mark, where is the question mark?”
Mark read over my shoulder, “You don’t start a text with ‘Dear’, it’s not a letter!”
After a good 15 minutes of awkward typing/writing/texting, my first real text message was sent. And it was amazing. It’s like part phone, and part email. How cool is that? I know I’m approximately a decade behind the rest of America, but text. is. awesome.
“Mark, I want to text now. And I want a phone that works. Make that happen.” Because I think it’s fun to pretend he is my bee-yotch personal assistant.
Before I could say WTF (which is txt for “What the fudge?”… in case you weren’t aware), Mark had found 3 phones I could choose from that are free with his “New Every 2” plan that he thought would ‘fit’ me. With more thought, we remembered that my dad still pays my cell phone bill since it is lumped in with my family’s plan, and I should talk to him about a new phone (this may seem like I’m “refusing to grow up”, but it is not my fault if he turns into a messy puddle of parental goo when I call him “Daddy” all sweet like).
The next day at work I talked to my dad about getting a new phone.
“Hi, Daddy,” I said with syrupy sweetness, “Could I talk with you about something?”
My dad has an obsession with being a hero, and I decided this would be the best approach: Daddy! Save me from the phones that don’t work! Help!
“I need a new phone, and that mean husband of mine won’t get me one. It’s just dreadful! All I think about is how much better life was living with my awesome daddy…” Begin the pout… now.
“Oh, Angel (that’s his nickname for me, and also a sure sign that he has reached full puddle status)! What kind of phone did you want? And we should really get text messaging set up on your phone, too… it’s long overdue…”
Status of Mission: Wrap Dad Around Little Finger is now complete.
One step forward: Finally going to be able to text.
Two steps back: Undermined any feminist values I thought I held.