Last Tuesday, my life changed forever. No, not because HGTV decided to buy my show idea Real Estate Skanks: Fargo or because every email program in the world finally wised up and eliminated that horrible “Reply All” feature.
(But honestly, when the baseball coach sends an email about practice, what kind of dimwit replies to all 20 people on the mailing list with, “Trenton will be there!” every damn time? It takes all I have to not reply to her with, “Thanks for the warning! Whiskeying up my flask, loser!”)
Unfortunately, the real reason my life changed was far more tragic: my iPhone died. (Moment of silence, please.) (Oh, come on, stop chewing. I can totally hear you.)
But yes, el phono es now el morto. And I can’t even tell you how devastated I am. In fact, I’d be keening and wearing Italian Widow Black right now if it weren’t for all of the super cute coral clothes they have out this Spring. Seriously, I went to J. Crew yesterday and now I look like the Great Barrier Reef with feet. Every time I walk by the kids’ fish tank, I get nervous that one of them is going to jump out and colonize me.
Anyway, before you start organizing a boycott of Apple in my honor, I must very painfully admit that my iPhone’s death was—-my fault. But rest assured, it wasn’t due to something as declassé as manslaughter or a crime of passion. Lord knows I’d never do anything to hurt my little iPhoney who got me through many a swim lesson by allowing me to play Words with Friends rather than listen to the other moms talk about their baby’s super fascinating sleep schedule. Blech.
No, my iPhone’s untimely demise was more of a Negligent Homicide, if you will. Or in arcane legal terms, “A Spectacular Jackass Maneuver That Wendi’s Husband Will Now Hold Over Her Head Until They Both Die of Old Age and/or Mutual Arsenic Poisoning.”
Here’s how The SmartPhone Tragedy of 2012 went down:
TUESDAY, MARCH 27th
6:30 a.m. Wendi wakes up refreshed and gorgeous as usual.
My new conditioner is really working wonders.
6:45 a.m. After a few minutes of meditation and Norwegian Tai Chi, Wendi slips on a kicky little number to really flaunt her curves.
Wendi’s husband likes to call this rather vampy outfit her “Eastern European File Clerk with a Lady Stache” look.
7:00 a.m. Tearing herself away from a lively family breakfast conversation about whether or not Spongebob Squarepants has a penis, Wendi retires to her luxurious private lounge with an armful of silk and chiffon to pamper herself.
Notice how, exactly?
7:01 a.m. Because Wendi is a very high-powered woman, she places her precious iPhone in her pocket lest she miss even a single Paula Abdul tweet with an inspirational quote from a great French thinker. (@PaulaAbdul “We are so accustomed to disguise ourselves to others that in the end we become disguised to ourselves.” ~François Duc deLa Rochefoucauld!!!!!)
7:05 a.m. Tragedy strikes! Leaning her elbows on the counter in her luxurious private lounge to lovingly gaze at her unlined forehead in the mirror, Wendi fails to realize that her precious iPhone has slipped out of her pocket and into—-a goblet of Cristal!
What, doesn’t everyone call the potty a “Goblet of Cristal”?
7:06 a.m. EEEEK! Wendi lets out a high-pitched scream and immediately plunges her hand into the cold water to rescue her soul mate. “I’LL SAVE YOU ROSE!” she yells, like Leonardo DiCaprio in that one movie that she doesn’t quite remember because she saw it when she was reallllly drunk and having major contact lens issues. “NEAR, FAR WHEREVER YOU ARE! I BELIEVE THAT THE HEART DOES GO…fuck. Is that toilet cleaning gel stuck on the volume button?”
7:07 a.m. Wendi summons up all of her goddess strength and frantically rushes her baby to the kitchen where she gently wipes it down with a linen towel. Then, per Google, she gingerly places her lovey in the Intensive Care Unit—AKA a bag of rice—to dry out.
Since Wendi’s husband is on a health kick, the iPhone had to slum it with Hippie Rice.
7:08 a.m. A distraught Wendi runs to her husband and tearfully tells him what happened. He takes her in his big, strong arms, looks deep into her eyes and softly whispers, “I’m surprised it took this long. Doesn’t dropping things in the toilet run in your family?” Then he hands her something called a “Droid” and tenderly says, “Try not to flush this one, Einstein.”
7:09 a.m. Wendi fights back sobs and wonders if Paula Abdul knows what Baudelaire would say in this dark, dark time.
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 28
Wendi watches the bag of rice.
THURSDAY, MARCH 29
Wendi watches the bag of rice.
FRIDAY, MARCH 30
Wendi eats the bag of rice.
SATURDAY, MARCH 31
8:00 a.m. Wendi finally opens the Ziploc bag and gently pulls her iPhone out of its multi-grain cave, hoping against hope that it’s ready to rise from the dead. But alas, there will be no Easter iMiracle this year. No, friends, her phone has already left this earth and will be soon moving on to a better, kinder place. Specifically, the studio apartment of some weird guy on Craigslist who buys broken phones and calls himself “The Jackal.” But hey, 100 bucks is 100 bucks, am I right?
SUNDAY, APRIL 1
7:00 a.m. Despite her sadness, Wendi wakes up looking refreshed and gorgeous as usual.
Trust me, every woman in Texas has chest like this.
7:01 a.m. Wendi stares out her window and wonders how life can continue with a Droid.
7:03 a.m. Wendi’s husband suddenly waltzes into the room and cheerfully informs her that he has just ordered her—a brand new white iPhone! Wendi is beside herself with joy! “Thank you thank you thank you!” Wendi yells. “I’m so excited and thrilled and wait a sec, did you say ‘white’? WTF? Am I a Kardashian now?”
7:04 a.m. Wendi apologizes to her husband for being “a lousy ingrate with toilet issues” and proclaims that of course she’d be happy with an iPhone of any color, sweetie cakes.
Mostly because her new white iPhone will be wrapped in about 10 pounds of scuba gear before she’s allowed to touch even a single one of the damn buttons.
And Wendi is okay with this.