“What should I get your mom for Christmas?”
“Um, she mentioned she would like a new phone, one that she could take decent pictures with.”
“Well, what do you recommend?”
I bit my tongue, a wise ass remark about his lack of the holiday spirit trying hard to escape my gritted teeth.
“I suggest the iphone. It’s super easy to use.” (translation: even my technophobe mom could handle using it)
“I’ll take a look. Call me back if anything else comes to mind.”
I grabbed my iphone, headed upstairs, and asked my mom to take some pictures of my sister and I, excited to get her hooked on what I think is the smartest smartphone around (unfortunately, I’ve inherited some of those anti-tech genes and feel like a superstar when I seamlessy manuever through my myriad of apps. It makes me feel like a genius. Or at the very least, much less like my mother).
I was just sure this was the phone for her.
And then, this happened:
There’s like ten more of these. No joke.
I’m going to spare you the rest.
I had to call my dad, before it was too late.
“Dad? It’s me. I made a mistake. I know an even better phone that would suit mom perfectly. And you can get it at Target.”
“Really? Okay, which one is it?”
“I’m texting you the info now. Bye!”