“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.

“Hello?”

“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!”