and tell me that you have to have a cell phone. PLEASE.Clearly, it makes perfect sense TO ME. A woman over 40, me, typing away quietly within the confines of my car in a library parking lot for two hours to check email and sip coffee, since beverages, namely a hot steaming Starbuck's latte which I sorely needed for comfort this afternoon isn't allowed in the facility. After all, a sensible mother doesn't even try to conquer the drive back home through three cities in rush hour traffic when her children have to be picked up from a rehearsal in less than two hours.
What doesn't make any sense to me is the sixteen year old teenager sitting next to me in her car chatting away on her cell phone, windows rolled down, for two hours talking about the next party and the new clothes she just bought for the occasion; that so and so's husband is all wrong for so and so, and besides, he's so young, too. And every few minutes I hear, "hello, hello, are you there?" and "yeah, I can hear you now." A few pauses and sighs and the conversation peaks when the discussion of certain "boys" erupts with too many sobering "really's." And then, "good for you, girl," followed by more gossip about what so and so did when his parents weren't home.
I promise I won't make you take a shower until you beg me to. I'll even buy you the entire zoo of plastic animals and a ten year supply of bathtub foam if you promise me right now that you'll never ask me for a cell phone until you're ready for college.
1 comment:
Sweet post! Robert has mentioned several times about getting Holly her own cell phone. My repeated response is, "WHY? She never GOES anywhere?!"
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