When you’re driving three hundred and fifty miles alone, it makes sense to have a cell phone along with you.  I hate the damned things but I bought one.  Dear Hubby is pleased.  He was worried. 

     I bought a Go phone.  I’m not paying for fancy bells and whistles.  I walked into one of our local AT&T phone stores this afternoon.  Clayton asked me if I needed help. 

     “I need a Go phone.”

     He showed me several. 

     I looked at the prices and winced.  “What’s your cheapest phone?”

     He looked at me as if I’d sprouted a third eye and a set of antenna.  “Well, there’s is one.  It’s $29.99.  But it doesn’t do nearly as much as these others.”

     “Honey, I don’t need or want a lot of bells and whistles.”  I went on to explain how I hate the damned things and the idiots who drive while talking on them—all those close calls I’ve had with men and women alike who were so busy yakking they weren’t paying attention to the road.  

     “Then there are the rude people who yell on them while in stores or libraries.  I really do not want to listen to their private conversations.  I’m only buying one for my husband’s peace of mind because I’m going to be driving alone for three hundred and fifty miles.  I’m not a technophobe.  I hate being available 24/7.  I don’t need an umbilical cord to the world.  That’s why I have an answering machine.”

     Clayton got it.  He grinned.  “You’ll like this one.”  He held up a tiny phone.

     I groaned, “Another thing to get lost in my purse.”  I peered at the teensy number pad and screen.  “They sure don’t make these for half blind people like me, do they?”

     Clayton cracked up.

     I bought the damned phone.