Hi, I’m Robyn and I’m addicted to my smart phone.


So yesterday I received my bill from Vodacom, a whopping R200 more than I usually pay due to an exorbitant amount of sms’ing. Why? Because about 5 weeks ago, my Blackberry breathed its last and Vodacom were kind enough to loan me a phone from the ice age which I’m sure they resurrected from extinction. I have always been the hero who likes to tell people that I don’t need a fancy phone, I just need a phone that will let me send a message and make a call. I can actually hear my over confident, over irritating self saying this to many a fool who are so in love with their phones that they sleep with them under their pillows. Ha, who’s the fool now (and my husband may or may not have caught me sleeping with my phone under my pillow on some occasions but it’s his word against mine).

The other problem is that if you are not on BBM or Whatsapp or any other “free” messaging service, you can basically kiss your social life good bye as no one, not even my dearly beloved, will bother to check up on me or reply to my archaic way of keeping in touch, because sms’ing costs money. I am left out of important group message forums about vital topics ranging from what to cook for dinner, or who’s baby is giving them the most trouble that day, to who’s read 50 Shades yet. I have been omitted from significant conversations around important decision making like which dress to buy, which shoe matches this outfit better to what should one do if your baby’s poo looks like this (picture attached). I feel like a social outcast, like a leper who no one will touch. AND I’m paying R200 more for it! I miss updating my status with what I’m having for lunch, or how many times I’ve been to the loo today or what colour stockings I’m wearing. I miss not being able to stalk people when I can’t sleep at night, or Googling random stuff when I’m standing in a queue or waiting for Liam to finish his poo so I can wipe his behind. Although this replacement phone does have a camera, it is so ancient that it NATURALLY has that grainy look of 1970, which Instagrammers now love to use. I miss whipping out my phone for a once-in-a-lifetime shot of Hannah digging her nose (ok, that’s quite common) or my husband taking out the trash (ok, that’s also quite common)… but you get the picture – excuse the pun.

I’m due for my upgrade in precisely 12 days, but hey who’s counting. I was not able to upgrade prematurely because my bill wasn’t high enough – apparently a privilege only for those customers who basically pay Vodacom’s overheads with their excessive bills. My old Blackberry is dead. Like really dead. Irreparable is the word they used. My only positive comment about this old dingy Samsung that I am using now is that the battery life is phenomenal. I charge it once a week. My husband says it’s because I never use it as it can’t do anything anyway; he’s probably right. The kids won’t even go near it, and that in itself means something. I usually have to pull them apart as they fight over MY phone to fake call granny (and it’s not always a fake call, sometimes they get through to the other side of the world) but this phone with its polyphonic ring tones gets no action from the kids.

So woe is me, the fool who’s  besotted with her smart phone who misses the familiar feeling of it sitting in her bra as she washes the dishes, but I guess it’s made me a better mom and wife. I now respond to the first “MOM” call from the kids, and am not distracted by responding to a BBM or a status update while the kids stand naked  and screaming, waiting to be dressed. My husband gets my full attention when we’re out for dinner … it’s just me and him. Not him, me and the people in my phone. And my thumbs are getting a good rest, my carpal tunnel syndrome has all but disappeared.

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