Found a package on my steps on Friday with hubby’s name on it. Didn’t bother looking it over. Figured it was some auto part or something guy-related and just chucked it on top of the shelf. Placed it nicely, if you must know. And forgot about it.
Then hubs comes home from work hours later and tosses it to me while I’m sitting on the couch.
I’ve never been a gifts person. I don’t know exactly when I developed an aversion to gifts, but I can count on both hands birthdays and Christmases when I dreaded opening the box. Indifference would lead to anxiety which ultimately gave way to an inexplicable anger. I seriously cannot pinpoint to an exact moment gifts ruined my day.
Don’t misunderstand. I’m not a saint, wanting to live in a cave with a single pair of socks and one pair of hiking boots. Although you technically don’t need more than one pair of boots. In general, when it comes to things, I air on the side of less. Wanting less. Cozy with less. Happy to have less.
But I’m still girly. I love a new dress. Pretty shoes. A fresh bottle of nail polish here and there. I like sparkly earrings. New fuzzy socks. And when my mom buys me undies [Yes, she still does!] I’m thankful. I really am.
This time of year, when businesses are frantically strategizing how to get citizens to buy, buy, buy. I’m all the way on the other end of the spectrum with why? Why? Why? Ever heard of The Five Love Languages book by Gary Chapman? He argues that people, in general, gravitate to feeling loved through one of five major venues: 1. gifts 2. quality time 3. words of affirmation 4. acts of service or 5. touch. And the interesting thing is we often want to express our love the way we feel loved, even if the person on the receiving ends prefers a different language, sort-a-speak.
Well, I married a guy who speaks numero uno, gifts. And he’s pretty great at speaking the remaining four to me too. Yes, I know I say it all the time, but it’s true. I’m really, really spoiled. Well, case in point, when I held the box in my hand Friday night, it suddenly dawned upon me. I know what’s in here. And I don’t deserve it.
I’ve been holding out for so long, I projected the date of getting a new phone for sometime in the year 2015. I’ve replaced my phone battery three times, I have cracked keys, and the metallic finish on my Verizon LG “dumb” phone has completely rubbed off where it used to say “ok.” But, regardless of these minor blemishes, I still felt “okay” about my phone.
Then, in the last month or so, she began to test my patience. Returning text messages to me days, sometimes weeks later. Running out of battery life only minutes after she claimed to be fully charged. But the straw that broke this dumb phone owner’s will was when she started turning on and off randomly. And I’m talking, like, whenever. I’d be in the middle of texting my hubby and she would just blink a wicked wink and spiral me into darkness. The screen blank, then black. And all that work to type in a message not even saved in the drafts. The revised text was always shorter. And sometimes I didn’t want to bother, especially if it happened back to back. You could say I was officially ready to have a funeral. But in the end, my super-saver spirit didn’t want to spend the cash when she still performed her basic functions. Making calls.
I was willing to hold out. I really was. But now it’s too late. The box is in my lap and I can hear a heartbeat inside. A song if you will. She’s singing to me and I haven’t even lifted the tape.
She’s come into my life and there’s no turning back. Hubs surprised me with an iPhone5 this past weekend with a pretty purple case and just to show me how much he loves me, he paid the extra monthly fee that covers damage and loss. Yes. Loss. As in, if I lose it.
So, as much as Madonna and I don’t see eye to eye when it comes to being a ‘material girl’ I have to admit, I’m kinda, sorta, really in love with my phone.
I’ve been talking to her and I think she likes me too! “Siri, call me Rani.” Rani means queen.
“Okay. From now on, I’ll call you ‘Honey.’”
“No. Siri. Call me Raaaaaaa-ni.”
“Okay. From now on, I’ll call you ‘Honey.’” Close enough.
“Fine. Siri. Call me ‘Hot Momma.’”
“Okay. From now on, I’ll call you ‘Hot Momma.’” This is Hubby’s name for me on his cell phone. I guess they haven’t taught Siri how to process Punjabi. I still love that my phone talks to me.
My 12-year old set her up and is quite possibly more excited about the purple package than me.
While shopping Friday night, she asked, “Siri, tell me where the closest Target is.”
Siri answered, “If it helps, you’re standing in one now.”
Hilarious. That’s exactly what I need. A phone that talks to me and entertains my questions, even if they don’t need to be asked. Wondering if that was hubby’s plan. Finding me a friend that can accompany me through life and deal with my externally processing personality. Maybe he hopes for all the filtering to occur before he walks in the door every evening. Maybe he thinks Siri will lead me down the road to a thriving writing career. Hey, whatever the cause, Siri is here, and she’s here to stay.
I think the best part about my new friend is the opportunity to update my Facebook Status and Tweet on the go. And I’m super-excited about Instagram and taking pics on the fly. And I can’t lie. There’s one game that I am foolishly hooked on. It’s the only game App I’m allowing to be downloaded on my new phone. The name left my lips the moment I first held my iPhone5 in the palm of my hands:
Sorry, gotta run! Time to swipe me some sliced fruit like an Iron Chef.
The little things. Yup. Still tickled… by the little things in life.
**And you? Did you invest in an iPhone? What do you have Siri calling you? Are you holding out for a smart-er phone who speaks with a British Accent? Who can pronounce “Rani” and make you dinner? I can see that… I’d be willing to upgrade for those features too. Cuz everything sounds better with a British Accent. Just sayin…