Size matters. That is especially true when it comes to today’s technological gadgets. I confess; I am jealous the Carpenter’s new toy is bigger than mine.
It wouldn’t bother me so much if he was impressed by his new Smart Phone. But this is a man who works construction. Tools are things that have sharp, pointy ends or hard, flat metal, with the occasional blade. The only criterion is they fit into his tool belt or could be tossed into a green metal box for days on end. After 25 years in his trade, he hasn’t needed anything more than that.
Email is useless to a man of few words in an industry where gestures and four letter words have more merit than grammatically correct sentences. That’s why he married me. I am the Carpenter’s email.
I bought my Blackberry Pearl a year ago. I named it Cranberry. The Carpenter hated it. Like most people, I am rude when my device is around. I ignore people by playing on it. If I am bored or impatient, I pull it out. In awkward social situations, I love that phone. If I miss my friends, we’re all on it. My phone is escapism. It has also been a cause of contention in our relationship. I learned to turn it off.
My Cranberry does the basic functions: phone, email, text, a camera, etc. I had to let go of the Internet. I couldn’t afford it. Sadly, I didn’t get a QWERTY keypad either, so it takes me twice as long to spell out a message, having to push each letter twice.
So last week, when the Carpenter brought home a new Smart Phone, I was Kelly Green with envy. His generous employer insisted he have the latest, greatest wireless device, with all the bells and whistles, complete with a full keyboard, touch-screen and a sleek, protective case.
Cruelly, I took great pleasure in watching The Carpenter try to navigate the phone, deciphering the symbols. It was painful to watch him update his address book, typing on the teeny-weeny keyboard with his thick, carpentry hands. I could have told him to upload the software and synchronize the settings with our computer, but it was so much fun to watch him curse the new gadget. By the time I offered to help, his man-pride was determined to show me he could manage this dinky toy.
To prove him wrong, I secretly sent him a text, an email and then phoned him all at once from the living room, where I stood watching him panic in the next room as bells went off on his new phone. It vibrated, zinged and nearly fell off the table. He was a multi-tasking mess. Score one for the jealous spouse with the smaller gadget.
However, it didn’t take long for the Carpenter to realize his toy was better than mine. Within days, he was showing off his sliding touch screen abilities. He discovered his poker app. Suddenly, he had frequent calls and was okay with it. He was quickly adept at texting. He would tell me the weather update for the week and use his GPS configuration with pride. He had a new tool on his hip that was bigger than mine, and he let me know it.
Now I may have to teach him the art of “sex-texts,” flirting by text messenger. Maybe not: he can’t spell and I can’t type fast on my keyboard. One misconstrued sex-text and I could be shovelling the driveway all winter.
