Texting

I got my first cell phone for work from my employer in 1988. It was approximately the size of my car and it came in a big, black zippered case that looked like I was carrying a vinyl covered cinderblock. It had a cord.

I toted my phone with me everywhere and thought I was so awesome.

Seriously. That's how lame I am.

Now I have a cell phone that’s so small I’m sometimes afraid I will swallow it while I’m talking to my kids. It’s shiny and red and skinny and does a myriad of things like take pictures, play songs, and probably if I asked nicely enough and pushed certain buttons in just the right combination, complete and file my taxes. It is a Berry something or other. It beeps and burps and plays the William Tell Overture every time someone calls me. If I am late for an appointment I get a reminder gong. Sometime when my Significant Other calls it plays the 1812 Overture. How do it know?

Although my phone is really cool, I am not. Therefore I do not fully understand text messaging.

I mean, I get it. I know how to do it. But I don’t understand why it’s cool or fun. To me, it seems like work, what with all the typing on those tiny little keys and having to remember acronyms and whatnot.

The other night I received numerous text messages at around 3am from someone who was obviously drunk. And, um, obviously got the number wrong because I don’t want to come over and party with someone named Tiffany, especially at 3am when I have just finished watching a John Wayne movie on AMC and I am really kind of sleepy.

Tiffany may be cool and fun and apparently is some kind of contortionist because she sent me a photo of her in a flesh colored body suit (at least I hope it was a body suit) where she was doing…well anyway she was.

I laughed and laughed and laughed some more about that and then sent her a text back explaining that no, I did not want to send a picture of my penis and/or other parts. She sent back a picture of her with no flesh colored bodysuit on. I could tell this time because I don’t think they sell bodysuits with nipples on them. It was less pornographic I suppose than the first, but it still didn’t do anything me. I was thinking about John Wayne.

I, being heinously uncool, laid there and thought for a moment. I will never figure out this texting thing.

But what do I know?

I’m so freaking uncool.