Today my son, Braddock, gave me his smart phone. I really didn’t want it. My old Motorola – for which I paid $9.99 allows me to call and receive calls – it was just fine. He’d been threatening to give me a Jitterbug phone, because I’m so technologically retarded.
It took him three hours to set me up and explain how to use the smart phone. (I remember trying to potty train him and he looked at me like, “Mommy I’ve got it. No problem. And he did.) Those genes came from someone other than me.
Today B bought the latest version of the telephone (is that still an accepted term?) and bequeathed me his two-year old I-phone.
He talked about it as if it was a dinosaur. No, I’m the dinosaur.
This phone is amazing. I can check the weather from moment to moment, check and send e-mails, take pictures and post to the Deludeddiva, check stock quotes in real time and play music from my favorite artist who is Keb Mo at present. This is powerful stuff.
Of course, the first call I got, I swiped the wrong end of the phone and cut off the sender. But I’m getting the hang of it. We were planning a trip to Nashville tomorrow to visit his brother, but my smart phone is telling me we should stay home because the roads will be icy. Oh Lord, will this smart phone run my life? Nah…still don’t know how to cut it off.