It's Not Really a Phone

I love that Zits comic strip. Even though my stepchildren are of legal age, it gives me little glimpses and reminders of the teenage years.

My latest fave featured the teenager ignoring the ringing cell phone. In the final frame, he tells his father, "If it was important, they would've texted me."

I'm about 50 years and a hundred light years away from this fictional character. Yet, I get it.

Remember the big freakin' deal when President Obama didn't want to give up his Blackberry? I get it.

Charleton Heston said he would give up his guns "when they pried him from his cold, dead hands." I'm starting to have that kind of attachment to my phone.

Except, it's not really meant to be a phone. It's a message receptor. I can get emails and text messages. And like Zits, I am far more likely to respond to an email or a text.

My reception must be horrible. My mother tells me this all the time.

But for those of us who tend to speak without thinking, the keyboard has proven to be a Godsend.