Mighty Marc backed the car out of our garage and onto our street. We were headed for breakfast at a local diner. We hadn’t driven the length of two houses when we heard a thump, thump.
“Uh oh,” I said. “It sounded like something fell off the car roof.”
“It sounds more like I ran over a large branch or a small body,” said Marc. I had entered the car lugging a heavy purse, jacket, umbrella, sunglasses, cane, and iPhone.
“Stop the car,” I yelled. “I think my phone fell off the car.”
Marc kept driving. “You’d never be dumb enough to put it on the car roof.”
Did I really want to debate that with him? I’d lose, even if I won. While Marc enjoyed eggs, I wondered why I hadn’t insisted we stop. I probably wasn’t anxious to accept that I’d made yet another in a series of recent stress-related, blunders.
After breakfast, we perused the street, but didn’t find it.
Marc phoned Apple, who said they would locate it. It was beyond my understanding how they could find a smashed phone, but the Apple representative and Marc were convinced it could be done.
Forty-five minutes later he hung up. “Let’s drive to the Apple store and buy you a new phone. I’ve been wanting to update yours.”
That was true. He’d wanted me to have access to the latest of everything. No matter how many times I’d said it, he refused to grasp the fact that I have no understanding of or interest in technology. If the day comes when I can take photos that come out framed; can connect with a deceased loved one, and have makeup apply itself to my face when someone Face Times me, I may feel differently. But, for now, all I wanted was a phone that would allow me to call someone if I’m stuck in a ditch and need help.
I updated from a 7 to an 8. The difference was the 8 had a better camera, and there was no way to enlarge the print on some Apps with fonts the size of ant prints. My loving husband also bought a red protector cover that completely hid the pretty gold phone I selected because it was a pretty gold. Then, he bought a round dish-like thingy that allows me to charge my new phone just by placing the phone on top of it; something I also have no appreciation for because I never found inserting a charger into my phone challenging or time-consuming.
I don’t like change. I prefer sticking with what I understand and not cramming new, superfluous information into my already over-crowded brain – unless, of course, it’s significant chocolate-related information.
Two days passed when I heard the dog barking. Persistently. A few moments later Marc walked up to me. “Where’s your phone? I pointed to my purse. “Why?”
He held up a phone. “Is this yours?”
“It looks like the one that fell off the car.”
“I came up when Shadeaux was barking,” he said. “Someone left this phone on the front stoop.”
I was nearly in tears. The only person who could have known where to return it was the individual who’d been driving behind us when the phone rolled from the roof. He must have seen us exit the driveway and watched it happen. Since a password is required, he couldn’t access information.
We had wasted time, energy, and a bundle of money on something I never wanted. I determined that would never happen again! I went into my office, wrote my phone number and taped it to my new phone.
In the middle of the night I woke up laughing. Writing my phone number on my phone would be useless. I could never answer the call.
I replaced it with Mighty Marc’s number.
My dog walked into my office, promptly, at 5:00. He was there to remind me to get into the kitchen and start cooking. I refer to him as my chauvinist “watch” dog. He must have swallowed a watch.
I left my office and, begrudgingly, headed for the kitchen. As I passed my husband, who was sprawled out in front of the TV, I said, "If you really love me you’ll tell me I never, ever have to cook again.”
He smiled, lovingly. “You never, ever have to cook again.”
I got whiplash as I spun around. “HONEST?”
“You said if I really love you I should say you never, ever have to cook again.’ I do. I did. What’s for dinner?”
Laverne H. Bardy transforms life’s adversities into hilarious adventures that boomers and seniors relate to. Her book, "How The (Bleep) Did I Get This Old?" is available at Amazon.com and other online bookstores. www.lavernebardy.com or email: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.