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Fickle cell amigo

It doesnít bark, it doesnít dig holes in your back yard. Manís new best friend doesnít shed on your furniture, and it doesnít leave puddles on the kitchen floor. But manís new best friend goes with him everywhere and provides a level of comfort only rivaled by the pooch of years ago. Manís new best friend has become a source of amusement in our house.
Iím talking about the cell phone. Now I know itís not a new phenomenon, but it is in our home. A couple of months ago, my husband entered the 21st century and purchased one.
You have to be sure the one you choose, the provider more exactly, will work where you want it to work. So, about three or four times a day at work I would get a phone call that went like this, ìCan you hear me?î
Yes, I know what that sounds like. I was supposed to answer yes, and then ask where he was calling from. On occasion the conversation on the other end of the line went like He_o, an_ou_re_me? That was obviously a place where the phone wouldnít work.
The first service he went with worked pretty well at most of the locations, with one exception, home. The only place to get an uninterrupted conversation was in the middle of our driveway.
Since that wasnít going to work, especially in the winter, he turned that phone in and went to another company. So again, the calls came in, ìCan you hear me?î
When it was determined that I could, no matter where he called from, he was happy and the phone stayed. The phone hangs dutifully from his pants pocket whenever heís out and about.
The cell phone, it appears, has become the greatest thing since sliced bread for people, especially men. Men who balked at learning to use a computer, men who still donít know how to turn the knobs on washing machines and ovens, have become absolute experts at flipping open cell phones and punching in programmed phone numbers, even though they have fingertips three times bigger than those teeny, weenie buttons.
Women probably have as many cell phones as men, it just seems that the cell phone has a different meaning for men.
I have to admit I experienced my first phone conversation while driving a car last weekend. No, not my phone, I donít have one. It belonged to a man, of course. However, it was useful, and I know they can be useful. I donít however, intend to make a habit of driving and talking on a cell phone, I want to make that perfectly clear. I have a strong objection to people doing so. And I canít for the life of me understand why they have to lean over in the car to talk on the phone. The little machine canít weigh more that a few ounces, so why the tilted head?
Anyway, I was musing over the cell phone phenomenon, and how it seems they have become the new best friend of many when I heard the most interesting cell phone story. It seems that best friend or not, the small phone can still cause some distress.
The story is somewhat delicate, but Iíll try my best to make it family-rated.
It seems there was a woman who was traveling along the interstate and who had stopped at a rest stop to do the thing we do at rest stops. Now this particular one, being quite modern, had self-flushing plumbing, the kind that goes off as soon as you remove yourself from the ìeyeî of the throne. So, when this particular woman removed herself from view, and in replacing particular pieces of garment, her cell phone fell from its appointed place and slipped into the bowl. You guessed it, flush.
Really, it went down the drain never to be seen again.
There are two lessons to be learned from this story: get the largest cell phone you can find, and donít expect it to be your best friend forever.
A dog would never leave you under such circumstances, no not a dog.

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