Once upon a time, a very clumsy man leaned over the bath to get a polar bear (plastic) for his children.
His cellphone slipped from his shirt pocket -- the victim of gravity and poor pocket choice -- and plunged into the water.
The man quickly pulled it out. But neither towel, nor hair dryer, nor humectants (stolen from vitamin bottles) could resurrect the cellphone.
He called Verizon. The operator said cellphones don't always respond well to full-immersion baptism, though she did know of a guy who dropped his cell into a cement mixer, fished it out, washed it off with a high-powered hose and then sent a text.
The clumsy man's cellphone wasn't so resilient. In fact, it was dead.
It took him 10 days to get another cellphone hooked up.
And in that time, a strange thing happened.
He found he enjoyed living without a cellphone.
His pocket no longer buzzed at strange times.
He enjoyed the alone-time he always enjoyed -- but now even more, because he knew the cellphone couldn't ring.
He wasn't tempted to drive and make a call.
He was still able to do his work. He even worked out a system with his wife so he could be reached should there be an emergency with the kids.
Amazingly, this was accomplished only with landlines.
So the man decided to stop using the cellphone.
He smiled when he made the decision.
And he's been enjoying being less than wireless ever since.
The man, of course, is me.
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