Last night at the end of a wonderful evening my phone shut off, battery depleted. Okay, so just maybe I overdid it on the selfies and the tweets. No problem, it was midnight when we got home and finally time to watch the newest episode of Outlander. No phone required! Technological distractions for that are most unwelcome anyways. So, I plugged it in and escaped to 1743 Scotland.
Fast forward a few hours and it’s time to head to the water park for a day of floating, reading, writing, relaxing, Facebook and Twitter surfing. After all, it is imperative that I see any new pictures of JAMMF or any discussion of last night’s Outlander episode as soon as possible throughout my sundrenched day. I go to grab my iPhone and see it is still not charged despite being plugged in for 8 hours. I start sweating profusely and tell myself to calm down. CALM DOWN! I tried different outlets, wriggling the cord, using a different cord. Dead. My phone will not charge. WHAT. THE. BLUIDY. HELL. *insert Scottish noise*
I stop banging my head on the granite countertop when Lord D steps into the kitchen. “Sassenach,” he says in that deep, rumbling Scots brogue, “ye can take my phone.” He slowly reaches those big, work-roughened hands into the folds of his kilt and pulls out a Motorola razor phone circa 2005. “Ye need not be scairt, not so long as it’s with ye.”
Okay, so it didn’t really go down like that, but my fellow Outlander and Heughligan peeps understand my temporary lapse here.
In all seriousness, though, a razor? All that thing can do is make phone calls. Oh, and text if you have the patience to press each key 1 to 3 times per LETTER in your message. I think it might take pictures. Not really sure. No data plan, No social media. I mean really, what is the point? Seriously, what can it do?
“I’ll tell you what it can do Lassie,” he says quietly, “it can hold a charge…”