Oneshot: Ode to a Phone

I hate my cell phone.

 

I hate the way it smugly looks back at me when I try staring at it for too long. Like it’s saying, “Hey! You! You’re never going to get the call you’re waiting for! Neener-neener-neener!!”

 

Which is usually about the time I smack it against the wall as punishment for its crimes, imagined or otherwise.

 

The way it just sits there, like it’s completely innocent. Like it doesn’t have anything to do with my life problems. Yeah, it’s not your fault that I missed out on my once-in-a-lifetime meeting. It’s not your fault that I broke up with my boyfriend. And it’s definitely not your fault that my mom found my texts to him. And promptly grounded me for a month.

 

Yeah, definitely not your fault. Right?

 

Dear my beloved, yet retarded, stupid, ridiculous, cruel, heartless cell phone:

 

Please, don’t take everything I say personally. I love you. In a very idiotic kind of way.

 

But I hate you.

 

I hate you when you just sit there, silent, for days upon days upon days. I hate you when I realize your biggest duty is to act as my de facto clock and alarm. I hate you when you decide to ring and I get all happy and joyous and start leaping up and down, thinking that someone cares about me, when I realize it’s just my alarm going off prematurely because I accidentally pressed “1” ahead of “8” and now you think I’m going to wake up at 6:00 PM in the evening. I hate you when I drop you in the water and then have to suffer the consequences as you go through a rice bath. I hate you when I send a text without looking at it and realize that hey, your keyboard isn’t so responsive after all.

 

I hate you for that.

 

But I love you, too. I love you in many, many, many ways.

 

I love you when you ring that special ring tone I’ve only assigned to the one who makes my heart go thump. I love you when you decide to suddenly vibrate in the middle of my physics lecture, bearing news and information that I otherwise would have had to wait for. I love you when you kindly open up the Internet for me during my discussion section, when you let me take pictures with you on a camping trip, when I can proudly show you off in the middle of the mountains and say to my jealous friends, “My phone still has service!”

 

But most of all, I love you because you’re always there for me when everyone else decides to leave. You always manage to stick close to me in my pocket, even when my heart sinks and I realize that I haven’t checked up on you in forever and stick my hands into my pocket in a panic and realize, with a deep sigh, that you’re right where I had left you. And I can relax again.

 

I wish I had friends with that kind of reliability.

 

Yes, I love you for that.

 

 

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