I'm not an early adapter of technology. My mother works at a large retail computer store, my father buys everything that comes out of that large retail computer store, and my sister has 2 masters degrees in education technology. I, on the other hand, am convinced that disgruntled leprechauns live inside my computer. Also, I put my fingers in my ears and go "LA LA LA I CAN'T HEAR YOU" when Brian starts talking about the new iPad.
So, for my birthday, something that was long overdue - Brian took me shopping for a new cellphone. I had a Motorola Razr for 4 years. It was a wonderful Mother's Day present, and all it did was make calls. I thought that's all I needed. But 4 years later, once you start referring to your cellphone as Old Unreliable, it's time to upgrade. At the store I pulled it out my pocket and the kid/salesguy saw it and snickered. No, seriously, people. He SNICKERED. At ME. ON MY BIRTHDAY. I was ready to box his ears and call him Sonny. But I refrained.
After a lot of shopping and a lot of questions and a lot of test-driving, enter my new phone: an HTC MyTouch from T-Mobile. I love this phone. It's a Google phone which is very straightforward and simple. I can take minute-long videos and upload them to YouTube which means, keep an eye for more kid video than you can stand. I can send pictures via text message to everyone except Brian (don't ask, he doesn't know why, either). I can listen to music. I can slide my finger around to the letters instead of tapping them out. It's called Swyping, and I love it. I spent about 10 minutes doing a tutorial, and I was off to the races.
After getting mocked by the whippersnapper in T-Mobile, it felt good to have this new hip phone and live somewhere near a cutting edge in technology. Even if it's just a bedroom suburb of the cutting edge, it feels good. I loaded up on a data plan and a text plan and hit the road.
Brian picked up the kids from daycare that afternoon. He stopped at the store with them to pick out cards and cake and a balloon. Let me tell you what really deflates a good birthday high. It's when your kid hits the door, all excited, and gives you this: