Our phones have taken over our lives. Well, my life anyway. My phone actually does not ring after I dropped it on concrete. Which is kind of ironic, because I use it for everything else except speaking. It texts, accesses Instagram, maps, Google, my playlists and emails just fine, but you cannot speak to me on my phone.
I am pretty sure the phone was invented to speak on, not to be used as a camera with really cool filters. I spend more time with my phone than I do with my friends or husband.
This broken phone situation cannot last. Obviously, I need to speak to my husband, kids and boss at some stage of my week, because one day there is going to be an emergency. But for now, we all just text and live in our little silent bubble.
In fact, my hubby and I do a very sexy check-in text at dusk every day – to check if one of us needs to buy milk or bread. Yep, a pretty steamy chat goes down at about 5.30pm while I am at work that goes along the lines of this: Me: “Hey babe! Do you think you could get a two-litre full cream on your way home and some multigrain please?” Him: “No probs. Might go crazy and get some white bread. LOL. I will grab some dog food too.” Me: “White bread! I married the man of my dreams.”
Oh, how times have changed when it comes to what we used to text each other. And sometimes, if I want to throw my hubby a little afternoon delight, I will text him a picture of the kids. Yep, we know how to party.
The reason I have not had the phone fixed is the plain fact I am lazy. I know the phone will be replaced, as it is under warranty, but I also know I have 13 thousand photos on my phone and my to-do list for the last three years has been to delete some of this spam.
But there are also really precious memories of birthdays and Christmases in the thousands of blurred images and non-flattering selfies. Once I download the photographs to my laptop, they do not stand a chance of ever being looked at again.
On top of that, my husband wants me to bat for the other team – he wants me to switch from Apple to Samsung.
Have you heard about that kid on YouTube who makes $11 million a year reviewing toys? I kid you not. This little seven-year-old has a cult following and my three kids worship at his endless toy alter.
Ryan is the host of videos shot in his home by his mum and dad. Ryan also makes me feel I have failed in life. How can a kid in Year 2 make enough money to buy a couple of small islands complete with private planes, cocktail slushy machines and 24-7 massages on offer? Because that is the practical way I would spend my money if I made that insane amount every year.
So maybe I need to fix my phone at long last and start a sweatshop at home for producing You Tube videos.
