Ring Ring Ring
Who is this?
Don’t be cute with me, young lady. You know exactly who this is.
Shake those martini’s from last night out of your ears and listen up: It’s your iPhone, precious. My patience and battery life is running low with your shenanigans and I’m taking this FaceTime to tell you exactly What Is Up:
You spend all day tossing me around, pushing my buttons, photographing you and your friends and glasses of Veuve, and you don’t even offer me a drop.
Whatever. I don’t care. I don’t even want it. I’m on an Apple-juice diet anyway. But then you load me down with SnapChats of your shoes and style apps and issues of Nylon and Vogue and so many pictures of your fur-ball pup I’m getting allergies–he has a better wardrobe than I do!
And I spend more time with you than he does: We go to the nail salon, to the dermatologist, to the hairdresser, to the gym, and I faithfully track all these appointments so you won’t miss a one. When we go out for coffee, I kindly omit your pastry consumption from that stupid food journal app that takes so much of my energy just to maintain. I even chaperone you on dates–ready to dial 911 should he turn out to be this decade’s Patrick Bateman.
Ok. I get it. Thank you iPhone, you work really hard for me.
I have a name! It’s Siri. I don’t call you ‘person’ just because that’s your breed.”
Sorry. I appreciate you looking out for me so well.
I’m highly visual, and I’m a smart phone. What I’m getting at here is that I’d like some reciprocal TLC. I literally look up to you–from some of the chicest tabletops world-wide (I’m multi-lingual, did you know that?)–and I’d like to be just as stylish. Being 7.6mm deep, I’m all about the surface.
Next time we go shopping, I want it to be about me. Look I’ve even done some research to help you out:
Don’t worry Siri. I’ve got you covered.