It’s officially summer here in the Pacific Northwest. That means I don’t have to wear a jacket to go walking in. So, logically, you would think that I would have purchased walking/jogging/running (ha ha) pants with pockets. You’d think that wouldn’t you? Well. I didn’t. Idiot girl.
Instead, I figured out a way to wedge my cell phone between my Incase Ipod arm strap and my arm. Works like a charm. I also figured out that my keys can be oh so carefully stuffed into my sock. I am a walking fashion statement, let me tell you. Red and white Incase with red cell phone scrunched between my dazzlingly red Ipod and my fleshy arm. White and blue Fila’s in which my white sockies fit neatly, one leg BULGING with keys. Hair pulled into a tight pony tail. Yeah, it’s all about the look. I’m one hot mama.
No, really. It’s summer. I’m really, really hot. The hill wanted to kill me today. It wanted me to melt with the black top. Snicker. No way Jose!
So, I’m kickin’ the hill, Ipod urging me on, phone so close to my ear that I would surely hear it. You’d think that wouldn’t you? I didn’t though and missed a call from my new boss (yeah, I gotta boss and she so rocks).
Later I compared notes with another geriatric girl. She’s a girl I've labeled the Singer. She’s also known as the Driver. Personally, I like to call her my Wen. Anyway, The Wen and I laughed about the fact that neither one of us can hear our cell phones.
Now in case you are missing the point here, we are women who could hear a tinker toy plunge through the skin of a child on the second floor of the house before the injured party started screaming. We could hear water drip ever so gently onto rose petals. Bats had nothing on us.
Sadly, our hearing seems to be waning. But what’s most troubling is that unless that darn phone is in our hot little hands, we don’t feel them vibrate either. Huh? In my pocket? Nope, won’t feel it. In my purse at my feet, daughter sitting next to me will feel it, I won’t. So, I purpose to Verizon, Kyocera and all makers of the cell phone that they consider a new line.
A phone for the woman over 40. See, the problem is we haven’t quiet hit menopause, so we’re not snake spit mean (yet), but we’ve lost the ability to hear a train in the distance, a child crying down the hall, or our cell phones. So please, Mr. Cell Phone Maker, make me phone. Make it with a LOUD ring. Make the vibrate option on the phone so strong that Wen in Southern Cal will wonder if there’s been an earth quake. In fact, while you’re at it, make GPS a standard feature for The Stalker with a loud commanding voice so she’ll know where she’s at or where she’s going. Make it artsy and pretty for The Giver. Design it with one of those replicating windows like on Star Trek so that The Writer can get her Luna bar after her run.
And could you make chocolate scented?
What about margarita scented?