Buying new cellphones not an exercise in sprinting, but ultra-marathon running

Well, we’ve got new cellphones.

Last Friday, my wife and our 20-year-old daughter, Emma, left our house to drive to the large electronic, computer, cellphone, headphone, TV and everything else store in Joplin to see if someone could fix Emma’s phone.

What would happen is that Emma would be using her phone and suddenly, for no apparent reason, it would stop working.

The phone, not Emma.

According to Emma, having her cellphone stop working is “Like, literally, the worst thing that could ever happen to me in my entire life.”

I’m not sure if that’s true, but I’ve learned not to argue with Emma when she is having cellphone issues.

By the way, if Emma were to say that she was having “cellphone issues,” I would say “You’re having what?” And she would say “Cellphone issues,” and then I would say “Gesundheit.”

Emma hates it when I do that.

As my wife was getting ready to leave, she asked for my phone.

“Just in case we have to get new ones,” she said.

“Be sure to write,” I said.

See, in the past it has taken a long time to get new cellphones.

How long you ask?

Longer than it took to build the pyramids. Longer than the Hundred Years’ War. Longer than one of Trump’s ties.

It’s taken us a long time to get new cellphones, is what I’m saying.

Later Friday afternoon, I had to drive to Joplin to pick up some chairs my wife paid someone to have recovered. But when I got to the chair recover place no one was around, so with time to kill, I dropped by the large, electronic, computer, cellphone, headphone, TV and everything else store to see how things were going cellphone-wise.

“We have to get new cellphones,” my wife said. “But it’s OK because he said it should only take about 30 more.”

Sometimes I wonder if my wife smokes crack.

As it turned out, it only took 30 minutes to get our music off of our phones. But getting the rest of the stuff off of our phones was gong to take “roughly forever.”

Because I didn’t just fall off the cellphone truck, I looked at my watch and said, “Oh, would you look at the time, I have to get back home” and left the store.

About four hours later, Emma walked in the door.

“I have a hair appointment so Mom dropped me off,” Emma said.

“Where is your Mom going?” I said.

“Back to the phone store,” Emma said.

“Uh-oh,” I said.

“Yeah, I think she’s kind of mad,” Emma said.

“At who?” I said.

“Everyone, I think,” Emma said.

“Double uh-oh,” I said.

“Literally,” Emma said.

Figuring it was going to be a long night, I did what any veteran husband whose wife was on a cellphone mission would do.

I got a beer and sat down in front of the TV.

A couple hours later, my wife pulled into the driveway and then walked into the house carrying our new cellphones.

Because I don’t have stupid written all over my face, I did what any veteran husband whose wife has just returned from a cellphone mission would do.

I opened a bottle of wine and handed it to her.

“Here, don’t worry about a glass,” I said.

She didn’t.

According to Emma, our new cellphones are much better than our old cellphones. So I guess it was worth the time spent getting them, but I wouldn’t mention that to my wife. At least not for a year or two.