My oh my, how my smart phone grew, that cute wittle plastic thing in the window, stuffed inside a dainty pink case, that called out to me when I passed by, “Please buy me and take me home with you. I’m sitting here all alone ‘cause nobody wants me. Boo, hoo.” How could I resist its calling? So I paid my two hundred bucks and took the poor wittle thing home with me that day.
The next morning, I couldn’t wait to make a phone call. I scurried over to pick it up and lo behold, how it grew. It looked like the ghost of Goliath standing there in its intimidating mode with its bigger than life chest sticking out, its ghoulish horns sprouting out of its head, waving its spear that looked like a petrified anaconda at me, its feet the size of a buffalo head, shredding my floor with its heavy stomping.
It cried out to me in a booming voice heard throughout the land, “You think you’re so smart. I’m the king of smartness. I invented smartness. You’re just that little fool that picked poor little me up and took me home with you. I own you. You can’t figure out how to make a phone call. If that little pea sized brain of yours can figure it out, good luck. I’m your designated nemesis, so watch out.”
I couldn’t make heads or tails out of the directions, so I ran over to my granddaughter’s house next door. She came back over with me and when the beast looked at her, he blurted out, “That’s not fair. You brought the cavalry with you, you son of a bitch. I don’t want to fight with you. O.K, O.K. T-Take it easy on me. I surrender.”
So my sweet little granddaughter figured out how to make a phone call among many other things. She could speed dial, put a call on hold, get rid of viruses, start the car up outside, and do the shopping; everything but wash the dog. That so called intimidating smart phone shrunk down to its pre-purchased size, and from then on we started a mutual relationship. That friggin’ phone wasn’t so big and smart after all.