My iPhone sent me a message yesterday. When it’s feeling particularly melodramatic, my phone refers to itself in the first person.
“Temperature,” it gasped. “iPhone needs to cool down before you use it.”
I reacted with the same disdain I reserve for all heatwave complainers who whined all winter about the cold.
“Oh please,” I tsked. “Get it together. We have a busy day.”
But, the truth is, my iPhone is hotter than I am and it knows so.
While I refuse to complain about the heat, I do manifest it. I sweat better than almost anyone I know, even as I’m waxing a little too enthusiastically about THIS GORGEOUS DAY!
My phone has made no such embarrassing faux pas.
The level of dignity it maintains can be both intimidating and infuriating. It’s publicly humiliating to have a phone with better boundaries than I do.
When a conversation goes a little longer than I’d like, I adjust my schedule to accommodate the obviously necessary nattering.
When my phone thinks a conversation has gone on too long, it shuts. it. down. Immediately. I’ve been mid word, well on my way to making a very profound point, and my phone disconnects me.
“Hey!” I yell into its completely unimpressed face. Sometimes I think it rolls its eyes at me.
When its batteries are running low, my phone insists on a recharge. When I’m feeling drained, I smack myself on the face a few times, guzzle a Diet Coke and plow forward.
My phone still slides sleekly into its cover. I sometimes have to hold my breath to button my pants.
We’re kind of an unlikely pair. But, I’m learning.
The next time I get a little annoyed, I intend to hold up a sign.
“Temperature,” it will say. “Laura needs to cool down before you speak.”
