Ring ring.

I bought the coolest phone in the world, but it only rings as much as my old phone did.

On the left, you can see my old phone, purchased in late 2003. The Nokia 3310. Everyone had this phone. Two years before I did, that is. It's a classic. It's old school. Fire engine red casing. Digital watch style screen. Fat black pixels. Monophonic. It calls. It texts. It doesn't do voicemail. And it's a fucking brick. Drop it fifty times on hard concrete and all you get is gravel rash. I had this phone nearly four years and the worst damage it sustained was a hairline crack in the casing, from the [*] button to the bottom edge. Look. Can't even see it. Bloody beautiful.

It would have been immortal, if it weren't for the battery. Battery started perishing late this year; phone needed charging every two days. It'd die in the middle of a call. I started complaining. My Dad said, we'll get you a new one. Christmas approaches. All I really needed was a fresh battery, actually, but hell. The phone was embarrassing. No one could believe it when I whipped the thing out. Bloody dinosaur.

So here I am, at home after work one night, and the dinosaur bleeps. "Might want to look on your doorstep," it tells me. I am Alice. I take a peek. There's a little parcel on the verandah. Letter tucked in the top. "Read me." And why ever not?
It's the Girl. She's bought me a new phone. Have a look - on the right. It's another Nokia. 2630. Shiny. Black and silver. Thin as a crisp. Every time I pick it up, I get a powerful urge to sink my teeth in, just to enjoy its crunchy slimness.
It calls. It texts. It has a camera and FM radio and video function and a game of Sudoku. Whatever Bluetooth is, it's got that. Simple, she calls it. Apparently they get a lot more fancy pantsy than this. My Luddite self is pleased. The Girl knows me. She knows I want a phone for phoning. A shiny one.

I put my SIM card in the wafer and gave her a call. "Come back here right now, bitch, so I can thank you properly." Drag her into the house. Give her a massive hug. Wave the phone around at all my relatives. "Check it OUT. I've rejoined popular society."
And as she leaves, I run out the front door to say goodbye. I'm gloriously, wildly in love; my bag swinging in my hand, zipper open and carefree. Out tumbles the wafer. Clack, it says, hitting the concrete verandah. Clackclackclackclack, it adds, bouncing across the driveway. Clup, it concludes, landing flat at her feet.
"Shit."
She bends down and picks it up. My head swims with remembered words.
"How much was it?" - "That's for me to know."
Am I going to find out now?
Her eyes rise to meet mine. The wafer lies dormant in her hand.
"It's okay," she says.
Ohthankchrist.

I have a new phone!