I have a new cell phone. A slider. In shades of black and gunmetal. Sexy. When I figure out how it works, I’ll call. Really. Okay. I have to pause a moment here for a little Norah Jones.
Back to technology. I love new technology. I embrace it. I have a slightly better facility for it than, say, tools. I have to say, when Tech Baby isn’t around, I’m the numero uno tech expert in this casa. Go ahead. Laugh.
Mr. G, honey hates technology. His cell phone is so old it should have a rotary dial. Long story short, the battery was going south. I was trying to gently nudge him towards a modern, spiffy replacement, but he was pretty much crying like a baby. So, I decided last week to bring him over from the dark side to Fido and get a we’re a couple package. I spent 45 minutes on the phone with a Fido Rep who was a real dream. I explained what I wanted. He could do it. Right there. Over the phone. I had a bazillion Fido dollars and decided I should replace my little silver flip baby with a slider, and get Mr. G, honey something fresh. The conversation with Mr. G, honey went something like this:
Me: We need to replace your phone.
Mr. G: Mumble. Pfit.
Me: I’m migrating you to Fido.
Mr. G: Mumble, mumble Pfit, pfit.
Me: What kind of spiffy new phone would you like?
Mr. G: B a s i c. I want nothing on it. (Ticking off his fingers.) No camera. No mp3 player. No Bluetooth. No internet. Nothing.
Okay. I had no idea he even knew what an mp3 player was. I think he threw that in as a red herring.
Me: I’m pretty sure most of the new phones have all of that stuff. You know, you don’t have to use it. You can just call people. Maybe send the occasional text message, if you’re feeling adventurous.
Mr. G, honey walks off gesturing in a very un-Mr. G, honey-like manner and pfit, pfit grumbling.
So far, things are going pretty good.
After Fido Dream Rep and I hammer out the details of the new plan, we get down to the nitty gritty of the phone selection. Mine is a no brainer. I’ve known for weeks what I want. No problem. It’s done. The rest of the conversation went like this:
FDR: What phone would your husband like?
Me: (Whispering into the phone.) Okay. Here’s the deal. The man hates change technology. He wants a phone with nothing on it. N O T H I N G .
FDR: Throat clearing.
Me: It has to be basic. As basic as you can get. Out of the back room basic. Maybe the first Fido prototype basic.
FDR: More pausing. More throat clearing. Hmm. Does he have big hands?
Me: YES! Yes, he does.
FDR: Okay, then. I say we go with the MOTORAZR V3 Classic.
And just like that, Mr. G, honey had a new cell phone, and I was humming the theme from Rocky.
The day his phone arrived, he happened to wander home for lunch. I think he smelled the chili all the way downtown. I had Motozilla — or whatever it was — out of the box and clicked together faster than a fourth grader. I talked him through the access code and voice mail message, and now I’m standing in his technophobic dust. Mr. G, honey hearts his new phone. He used the camera, activated voice dialing — okay, I had to leave the room when he starting shouting enunciating my name into the phone, and I do not want to be in the car with him when he uses that freaky function.
It’s sleek. It’s shiny. It’s sexy. I’m not saying Mr. G, honey named it, but…
My phone arrived yesterday. I’m still pulling bits of blue sticky paper off its parts.
Mr. G, honey, if you’re reading this…well, you’re just too sexy for your phone, too sexy for your…
That was a good save, right?