I curse the day she learned to dial the phone

Sassy has been campaigning for a cell phone. My response to that is not only no, but hell no.

Whhhhhhhyyyyyyy, she whines. Well, that’s one of the reasons right there. Whining. Owners of cell phones don’t whine about it.

Alright, I whine all the time, but then I pay the cell phone bill so I get a free pass.

Also, if she gets a cell phone, I’ll never have a moment’s peace. She gets home from school at 3:30. I’m at work at Bank of No Forks until 6:00. That’s two and a half hours that she can use to tattle via the home phone.

She calls me to inform me of everything. E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. Why do I answer the phone, you ask? It’s sick of me, I know. I’m totally enabling her. All the time, Ava’s chastises me not to answer. The problem is, it’s a train wreck I can’t not look at. Know what I mean?

“Mom, guess what The Bandits doing NOW,” she’ll say with her best newscaster voice.

“I don’t know and I don’t care.”

Not to be deterred, “Well, the cat threw up on the rug and then the dog went pee.” 

“What do you expect me to do with this information while I’m at work?”

“I don’t know. I just thought you’d like to know.”

Believe me, I don’t want to know. If she gets a cell phone, she’ll be able to do this all day, from everywhere. I suppose I should be happy she still wants to speak with me. I know that in a few short years, she’ll want nothing to do with me and I’ll look back fondly on these stupid phone conversations.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

I tried to remind myself of that this afternoon when she called up and the first thing out of her mouth was, “Wanna talk to the dog?”