Roar

I had a "smart" phone for the last two days, and I hated myself. During that time, I felt dumber and believe I actually was dumber. For example, I could never answer it when it rang. I kept swiping the damn thing as instructed, but to no avail. I took a few pictures with it and they were all blurry. I did, however, always know the temperature in Freeport, Maine, something I could find out by simply stepping outside, or looking at the thermometer on the back porch, or checking the newspaper, or turning on the TV.

My husband, being an avowed Early Adopter, naturally has an iPhone; I think he got it on the first day they existed. He is embarrassed to be seen in public with me when I use my little AT&T flip-phone, so when it finally broke and I needed a new one, he browbeat me into submission with name-calling: "Dinosaur" was the one that finally made me cave.

The thing is, I don't want to check the weather or my email or hear music or take pictures or play games or write messages or look at Facebook or do any of the things everyone is always doing in restaurants on my phone. I just want to talk on it. So I returned that stupid smart phone this morning, opting for a new old-fashioned dumb phone.

I feel good about myself again.