Murphy's Law

Lesson One…

by Nelson

"The most important and urgent problems of the technology of today are no longer the satisfactions of the primary needs or of archetypal wishes, but the reparation of the evils and damages by the technology of yesterday."-- Dennis Gabor



This is a little story about technology and me. We don't usually get along all that well, but we took a step closer by me learning a thing or two. Lucky for you, I'm sharing them in this story, so you can learn from my mistakes.

Lesson One: Don't get electronics wet.

Yes, I know it sounds obvious, but things happen, so this basic lesson needed to be reinforced. Especially considering it was my failure to adhere to this very important rule that started all my troubles. It was a drowning accident. An unfortunate, senseless, drowning accident with only one casualty: my Blackberry.

I slipped my hand into the pocket of my swim trunks and there it was. Heavy, solid, tucked away – and very, very wet. I realized I had done it right after I jumped in the pool to play with my youngest nephew, but I wasn't sure I caught it quickly enough to save the phone. I was afraid to take it out of my pocket when I realized it, scared to investigate further, and pretty sure that it was probably deader than a doornail. Mouth-to-mouth wasn't going to help. No amount of CPR would do a bit of good, I was sure of it. The best I could do was lay it out to dry and hope for the best, which is what I did.

I can recognize a dead cell phone from a mile away because I have killed, lost or maimed several of them – never by drowning - but enough times to where it's become quite the sore subject with Keith. Actually, *I'm* the sore subject with Keith whenever one of my cell phones meets an untimely death or dismemberment. Keith gave me a pass on the first one but it's been rough every time since then.

I am a whiz at killing cell phones, if you ever need to get rid of one. I work cheap. Just let me know and I'll draw up the details of the contract. Keith says he can't understand it because I'm typically a responsible person. I don't get it either, to be honest. Keith has threatened to chain it to my pants like a southern boy to his wallet, but there's no way that's happening.

This time, I graduated to an all-new level on cell phone killing: I offed a Blackberry. The ultimate cell phone in Cell Phone World and I had killed it.

I remember coming home the night the company issued me the Blackberry in lieu of a regular cell.

"Oh, God," Keith groaned at dinner when I told him about it. "Did you at least tell them about the cell phone mortality rate when you're involved?"

I gave him a flat stare. "No, Keith, I didn't. Those were all accidents, anyway."

"Are they insuring the Blackberry against accidental death?" he asked, ignoring my plea of innocence.

My stare flattened a little farther. "I have no idea."

Keith shook his head sadly in anticipation of the fate of my new phone.

"They were accidents!" I pleaded once again in self-defense.

"You ran over one--"

"It fell out of my pocket! It's not like I threw it under the car."

"You've lost three--"

"Two! We found the third!"

"After we replaced it," he doggedly reminded me. "Then you dropped one and cracked the screen —"

"I was trying to prop the one I dropped! Have you ever tried to prop one of those little ones between your ear and shoulder? You have to damn near bend like Gumby. Besides, it still worked afterward."

Keith looked at me, unimpressed. "Look, all I know is we've had to deal with the consequences of lost and damaged cell phones a hundred times."

"Five. Ish," I corrected.

"And I gave you a pass on the first one."

Right. It was only after it seemed to be a pattern that Keith felt the need to deal with my cell phone issues. By the way, this all happened over several years. It's not like I lost a phone once a week, so don't go thinking I'm a loser or anything. But it was enough that Keith considered it An Issue.

I remember arguing vehemently after the second time I lost one when Keith was prepared to rain down consequences.

"What if it turns up?!" I had protested. "Then I won't have lost it! You're only assuming I've lost it! Maybe it's just misplaced!"

I can still see Keith calmly looking at me from the sofa, waiting for me to quit stalling and get into the bottoms-up position. "Do you know where it is now?" I knew I was sunk with that question because I had no earthly clue. I shook my head 'no'. "Then it's lost and that's the issue. Drop your pants."

I have no idea where it is to this day, although I did see Lost Number Two on a milk carton once. We didn't get a single lead, though. I didn't even bother to try any arguments when Lost Number Three went MIA. I could have strangled my own self when I lost that one. I remember hoping like hell each one would turn up later just so I could say "I told you so", not admitting to myself it wouldn't make one iota of difference. I was cruelly reminded of that when Lost Number Three turned up between the sofa cushions a month later. Keith's unruffled reply to my attempted debate on unjustified punishments had come smoothly and without hesitation.

"It was lost long enough for us to have to purchase another one. That's lost long enough to be a problem. You need to keep up with your things." He didn't even look up from the newspaper to shut down my argument or to know my body language. "Close your mouth, Murph. You know I'm right."

I hated to admit it, but I did know he was right. The issue, as Keith patiently kept pointing out, was my failure to properly care for my phone. Knowing my phone's whereabouts is apparently part of caring for it. Not knowing its whereabouts is a breach of that duty, according to my partner: a breach that gets broached around the breeches region, brooking no arguments. Brother.

It is my responsibility to keep up with my belongings and I have dropped the ball there with cell phones once or twice or – never mind. I vowed to myself each time - and to Keith while trying to redeem myself - it would never happen again, cross my heart and hope to die.

And yet, here I was with another dead cell phone complete with my heart crossed and a fervent hope that I wouldn't die like it had. "Potentially dead," I grumbled under my breath to myself as I checked for signs of life.

My littlest nephew suddenly appeared poolside and was tugging at the hem of my swim trunks, pulling me away from my thoughts. I had managed to slip away from the gang in the pool under the guise of getting something to drink, but alas, I had been hunted and snared.

"Unc' Murphy, I want a drink, too."

His hair is white as the driven snow, blond like his daddy's, and it glistened with wetness in the August sun. My sister is darker like me and aside from Ryan's toasty-colored skin, you'd never know he came from my family's genes.

"Ok, Ryan, let's see what I have in the cooler that you'd like," I told him as I tucked the phone back in the folds of the towel.

Keith and I were kidlet sitting that day because my sister Angie and her husband, Jason, needed a day to themselves. With three young kids, I can imagine. They had stair-stepped them, having one every two years like clockwork until they racked up three whole kids. Better than partial kids, I suppose, and I loved every bit of my nephews. I asked my sister if they knew what was causing it and she said they did, but I'm still not convinced. Seriously, I think they were trying for a girl, but that wasn't happening, apparently. Instead, they got three cotton-topped, high-energy boys before my sister waved the white flag and she and Jason called a truce. More like a cease and desist than a truce.

So I volunteered us for kiddo duty after Angie dropped every hint in the book, waiting for me to take the bait. I saw it coming long before I gave in and offered. I know that was mean, but she's my kid sister. I have to make her squirm a bit.

"Just ask me, Angie," I finally said to her after hint number three -- something about how much she'd enjoy a day alone with Jason.

She sighed through the phone, sending a rush of relieved breath into my earpiece. "I hate to ask, Murphy. You know I do."

"And you know we don't mind. We'll take them Saturday. We don't have any other plans."

Keith loved my family about as much as I did, so I knew he wouldn't mind. As I suspected, he was fine with it and we thought a day at the pool would be good to keep the kids occupied and out of trouble. Not to mention we like going to the pool, too. We spend many a weekend morning there during the summer months doing nothing but enjoying the sun and working puzzle books or reading magazines.

We had been there that Saturday for the better part of the afternoon and it was becoming more crowded as the day worn on. The lifeguard blew his whistle and I realized it was the top of the hour, time for another 15-minute adult swim. Keith was busy pushing Tyler, the six-year-old, and Andrew, the oldest at eight, out of the pool ahead of him. All their protests didn't stop him from herding them out of the pool.

"They'll yell at you if you don't get out now," he explained to them for the fourth time. "It's adults only."

Andrew stomped wet feet on the concrete as he stalked toward me and Ryan. "Why do the *adults* get to swim alone? They don't have kids only time."

"I didn't make the rules," Keith explained as they reached the two of us. "What's up, guys?"

"We were thirsty –"

"I want a drink, too!" Tyler exclaimed as he jumped on the bandwagon.

"Me, too," Andrew announced, rummaging through the cooler. "And I'm hungry."

I pulled an apple from the cooler Andrew had chosen to ignore, and handed it to him. "We brought snacks. Here you go."

His face fell. "An apple? No chips?"

"No, and we didn't have any Pringles, anyway," Keith denied him their favorite chips as he wiped the towel across his wet face. "I'm getting hungry myself. We should leave at the next adult swim and get dinner. How about pizza?"

I could care less about food of any kind right then; in fact, I was struggling with nausea as it was, knowing what another dead cell phone meant to me. I tried in vain to cheer myself up. Maybe it wasn't dead. Maybe it was just in a coma. Maybe there was hope of revival.

And maybe pigs could fly. I sighed to myself figuring that once a cell phone went for a swim, a resurrection was probably not in the cards for it. It hadn't worked since I realized I got it wet. I hadn't bothered to tell Keith, either. I sincerely hoped that it would work after a bit of sun and that there wouldn't be anything to tell, but those hopes were dwindling fast.

"What do you think?" Keith interrupted my thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Pizza."

"Oh, yeah, that's fine," I answered absently.

"What's the matter?" Keith asked me as he sat on the lounge chair next to mine.

I was shocked he had read anything in my face because I thought I had it masked pretty well. I'm not sure why I was surprised. I can read him like an open book and he can do the same with me.

"Nothing." I smiled to put him at ease. "I'm just a little distracted." Understatement of the century. I was going to have to tell him, but I really wasn't feeling like having that sort of discussion with my nephews underfoot. In fact, I really wasn't up to having that discussion no matter what was underfoot, if anything.

He looked me over carefully before he nodded. "Are you sure pizza is ok with you?"

"Yeah, it's easy and no mess. Not to mention popular with the troops."

"We like pizza," Andrew chimed in with a vote.

"Uncle Keith, can I have an apple?" my cherubic youngest nephew asked my partner. It actually came out more like "Unc' 'Eef, can I hab a' apple?" He's such a cutie.

"Of course, you can," Keith told him as he pulled one from the cooler. "You want one, Tyler?"

"No, is it time to get back in yet?"

"No, it's fifteen minutes before we can get back in," I pointed out. "It's barely been five minutes yet."

"Well, *we* can get back in, Murphy," Keith teased.

"Uncle Keith!"

"I'm just teasing you, Andrew," Keith soothed the hot-tempered youngster. "You know," he said, turning to me, "it's 4:00 now. We should go ahead and call the pizza place. Don't you have their number in your cell?"

My heart grew lead and dropped with a molten thud into the pit of my stomach and began to smolder. It was the moment of truth. I was going to have to tell Keith I had killed another phone right then, whether I was ready to or not.

Something was stuck in my throat and I realized as I began to gag on it that it was a bundle of words trying to come together in something coherent to tell Keith. I didn't know what to say or how to say it. Actually, the truth is, it wasn't that I didn't know what to say. I mean, how hard is it really to say, "Keith, I forgot to take my phone out of my pocket before I jumped into the water to play with Ryan"? The problem was what would happen after I told him. Things were different with us than they were for a lot of other couples - for *most* other couples.

In a vanilla relationship involving a partner with a history of cell phone destruction, a quarrel would probably ensue. I doubt seriously the partner at fault would really be too concerned about it, though. He or she would probably just be gearing up for the fight, preparing the rebuttals to whatever the other partner had to say, blocking and tackling as accusations were hurled. Or maybe there would be no fight at all. It could possibly be a big laugh between them, a real knee-slapper, a big belly chuckle with the other partner tossing off a hysterical, devil-may-care, "Again?"

But I wasn't in a vanilla relationship; I wasn't in one by my own choice. It wasn't like Keith muscled me into a discipline relationship or anything like that. We agreed to be in one and that agreement took both parties, me included. In a non-vanilla, 24/7 discipline relationship like we had, there would be no laughing off of the cell phone problem. There would be no casual reminiscing of the last time. There would be no fight.

But there would be consequences. I knew what would transpire like I knew my name. That's what made it hard to tell Keith, not that I couldn't figure out what to say. I knew that once I told him, Keith would respond in a way that I knew. That I expected. And as much as I hate to admit it, in a way that I responded to. I knew without a doubt that even though I never damaged or lost a cell phone on purpose, the fact remained that after each time it happened and Keith responded as expected, it was a long time before it happened again.

So I stood there, not anxious to admit what I had to tell him, mouth gaping with nothing coming out but "buh, buh, buh, buh, buh". Not really, but it felt like that, as much as my brain was fumbling around, trying to find the words to say.

Keith looked at me quizzically, brow furrowed as he stared at me. "What's the matter? You have your phone, right?"

Some remote part of my brain that wasn't consumed with anxiety and guilt kicked in and started the ball rolling at top-notch speed. "Rolling" might be a little soft. It was more like "barreling", and right down the slippery slope, not even tapping the brakes just a little.

"I have my phone, but I can't call," I admitted. "I wish I could."

He hesitated and gave me a confused look. "Why not?"

"It's dead." There it was; right out there in the open. I stared at him, waiting for the information to sink in and take hold, bracing myself for his reaction.

Keith started laughing. It was not the reaction I was looking for, let me tell you. Like I said earlier, laughing it off was the last thing I expected. It simply wasn't the prescribed response in this given situation. "Killed another one, huh?" he chuckled.

I frowned at him, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and my lips frozen in stunned silence. How could he be laughing? He never considered it a laughing matter before. Was he changing the rules on me?

"I'm *kidding*," he said.

I was floored. I was in deep trouble and he found that a laughing matter?! Something to kid about? But then it all made sense after he continued. "A battery dying isn't the same as running it over with the car, dropping it or losing it," he said. "Although, you probably should have charged it…"

His eyebrow went up at the end of the sentence and I felt like the wind was just knocked out of me. A dead battery?! That's all he thought it was?? Here I thought I had told him everything only to realize he had misunderstood. I had to get my nerve up all over again!

A shadow of concern washed over Keith's face. "What's the matter with you, Murphy? It's no big deal. We'll just plug it up in the car and call from there on our way out."

I couldn't get my mouth to move so I just shook my head 'no'.

"Why not? I thought you said pizza was ok with you."

He still didn't get it and I was going to have to actually say it again. It was torture. "Pizza *is* ok with me," was all I could manage to admit. "I just –"

"Then what's the problem?"

I took a deep breath and opened my mouth to tell him. I had to get it over with before I lost my nerve. But before I could speak, I was saved by the bell, or the whistle, rather.

"We can get back in!" Tyler yelled with a whoop as he darted back toward the water.

Ryan discarded his apple instantly and grabbed for my hand instead, pulling at me like a terrier with a toy. "Let's go!"

"Murph?" Keith studied me as tried to ignore the boys.

"Never mind, it's ok. Go ahead."

"Come on!" Andrew persisted.

"Are you sure everything's ok?" Keith asked me.

"I'm fine. Let's get back in before they drag us in."

He didn't look awfully convinced, but he gave in anyway, probably because Andrew was more persistent than whatever nagging voice was telling him I had a problem with pizza.

"We're coming," Keith told him as he reluctantly looked away from me then followed the older boys into the water. "We're heading out when the next adult swim starts. No arguments when it's time."

I trailed him and the others with Ryan leading the way, grateful on some level that I had skirted the bullet, but still heavy with the knowledge that I had to tell Keith.

"Wait, Ryan." I pulled the Blackberry from under the towel and dared to look. The screen was black, as black as death. That wasn't a good sign; it should have already been on. I poised my thumb over the 'on' button. I held my breath and pressed the button but my hopes for revival were dashed when the unit failed to respond.

"Hurry up!" Ryan demanded from the edge of the pool. He didn't look too threatening with his hands on his little hips, no matter how hard he tried. Those inflatable floaty things on his upper arms took care of that.

I disgustedly tossed the unresponsive Blackberry on the lounge chair hoping it would dry out in the sun. I would never learn! I berated myself all the way back to the pool.

"That was close," Keith said with a grin as he brushed wet hair back from his forehead. He said prophetically, "I thought you were going to bring it in the pool with you for a second. We wouldn't be calling anyone had you done that. I don't think they like water."

Wonderful. "No, I don't think they do," I said, trying to control the grumble in my tone.

"That would have made number five or six?"

Poor innocent Keith, still smiling and none the wiser. I really didn't want to tell him and upset his day.

"I don't know how many." I dropped down into the water and was instantly plunked in the head with a squishy hand-sized pool ball. "Hey!" I protested.

"You're supposed to catch it!" Tyler announced. I zinged it back at him and overshot his head on purpose, making him have to swim for it.

Lesson Two: Don't plot to keep technological glitches a secret from your partner.

If only I had taken this class before, things might have turned out somewhat differently. Maybe not much more differently, but somewhat.

I tried to play with the kids and Keith without worrying about my phone, but it kept nagging at me, drawing my attention toward the toweled lounge chair. I hoped for the best. It could dry out and work just fine, I told myself. It could. The fact that the screen was totally black every time I tried to turn it on didn't mean anything. It was still wet, that was all. A little water never hurt anything, did it? Besides, it was plenty hot and should dry out pretty fast. I hung onto that hope during the waning minutes of our pool time.

Those minutes went by quickly and we all piled from the pool when the lifeguard blew the whistle again at the top of the hour.

"Ok, that's our cue," Keith announced amid "awww"s and "I'm not ready to go"s.

I helped Ryan from the pool and anxiously returned to the lounge chair where my phone was hanging on to life, or so I hoped. I tried to pick it up as casually as I could and mashed the 'on' button again. Nothing. Not a single spark.

"Help, Unc' Murphy."

I threw the useless Blackberry back onto the towel and unhooked the floats from Ryan's upper arms, and deflated them as flat as my hopes were.

"Towel off, guys," Keith said, tossing the older two their towels. "We're going as soon as we dry off some."

I draped a towel around Ryan and used it to tousle his wet locks until they weren't dripping any longer. I did the same to my own hair and then started to pack up. My mind kept going to the Blackberry and when I should tell Keith. I was ill that he misunderstood earlier because it was hard enough to tell him the first time, let alone have to work up the nerve to tell him again.

I seriously didn't want to have to tell him at all. I knew I had to at some point but I didn't want that point to come too soon. Somehow, I thought it wouldn't be as bad to tell him that I got the phone wet if the thing was still working. Who knew? It still might work once it dried out all the way and if it didn't, maybe I could find some way to resolve the issue without getting consequenced too horribly bad. If it worked, Keith *might* let it go. Call it a 'near miss'. Maybe.

"Ready?" Keith asked me. "Grab that bag, will you? I got the cooler."

"Got it," I said as I was drawn back to the moment.

I was really tormented as we walked to the car. Even though I knew how Keith would react to me taking the phone swimming to start with, I couldn't help but think he would be less disappointed if it all turned out ok in the end, or maybe even break protocol and let it go. I knew if there was a way to fix a wet cell phone, the answer would be on the internet. I just needed time to do a little surfing. If I was going wait until I did some research, then that meant I had to sway Keith from wanting to call for pizza and quick.

We piled the kids in the car, buckling and carseating everyone as the state required. Guilt was gnawing away at my insides as I committed to my plan to put Keith off, to keep him in the dark just a little longer.

"Why don't we cook out instead?" I suggested casually as I buckled my own seatbelt.

"I thought we were going to get pizza," Keith asked confused at my switch.

I fiddled with the air conditioning to keep from looking him in the eye. "But we'll have to wait, even if we call them from here because it's so close by. Might as well go home and toss some hamburgers on the grill." I somehow managed to finally make eye contact. "We have all the stuff."

"Hamburgers!" Tyler called out from the back seat.

Keith looked mildly annoyed at my sudden change of plans but he didn't gripe about it. He wouldn't have even if the kids hadn't been with us. He's pretty easy-going about most things.

Keith turned in his seat and asked the posse in the back, "You guys want hamburgers instead?"

A pleased chorus of "yeah"s rang in the rear of the car and I relaxed a bit. "Is that ok with you?" I asked Keith.

He sighed and started the car. "I was ok with pizza, too, but I'll go with the crowd. You could have just told me you didn't want pizza. I could tell something was up at the pool."

"No, I didn't care if we had pizza or not, I really didn't. I just thought we could eat quicker if we did burgers, that’s all."

I was a horrible person. I hated being even remotely dishonest with Keith but I needed to buy a little time. He graciously went along with my explanation on the hamburgers and by the time we finished eating and cleaning up, it was about time for Angie. It felt like the clock was stuck or going backward while I waited for her. I wanted nothing more than to get to the computer and do some much-needed Google searching – well, there was one thing I wanted more and that was for my phone to work. I went straight for the computer after she picked up the clan, pausing only long enough to kiss Keith quickly then tell him I wanted to check my email.

"You mean chat on IM and check groups and surf," he grinned knowingly at me as he cracked the cap off a bottle of beer. "I'm going to see what's on the tube while you play on the web. Want a beer?"

Yes, I thought I could use a drink. Maybe more than one. Maybe something stronger than beer.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I stretched out on the couch with the laptop and the beer while Keith took a seat at the other end of the sofa, scooping my feet up out of the way then resting them in his lap. With that seating configuration, I didn't have to worry about him seeing what I was searching, thankfully.

I Googled "wet cell phone" and the first link I checked was titled "How to Save a Wet Cell Phone". Yep, that was right up my alley. If there was an online article with that title it meant that a wet cell phone could be saved, didn't it? I clicked the link, holding my breath.

Step One: Get it out of the water as soon as possible. Check Step Two: Remove the battery.

Whoa! No check! The battery was still on the back, right where I left it! I read on only to find that removing the battery was often the key to saving the phone. Phrases in the article like "crucial first step" and "don't take time to think about it" left me with a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. It also left me with a nice segue into Lesson Three.

Lesson Three: Always remove the battery immediately after getting a cell phone wet.

My hands were sweating as I moved the laptop to the coffee table after minimizing the screen.

"Where are you going?" Keith wanted to know as I rose from the sofa.

"I forgot about my phone."

"Didn't charge it?"

I was glad I wasn't looking at him when I continued the charade. "No, I didn't."

I felt nauseous letting Keith think the only problem with my phone was a dead battery. I was going to feel seriously worse if I couldn't revive it before I told him. I was at a point where I knew to tell him meant picking the time I wanted to be consequenced. There was no reason to put it off if I told him right then. So I was at a serious crossroads.

I still felt like it would be better if I could tell him I got it wet, but thank God, it was working fine. If I told him before I tried to fix it, I knew I'd be getting it but good, no silver lining to brag about. Then if I ultimately got it work again, I'd be kicking myself for not waiting. I guess in reality I wasn't really at a crossroads. I went flying through that intersection all the way back in the car when were talking about pizza. I had made my choice, even if I couldn't look Keith in the eye over it.

I rushed to the nightstand and pulled the Blackberry out of the drawer then popped off the battery like the website said to do. It still looked damp on the inside where the battery had been, which made me ill all over again. Here I thought it was well on its way to being dry. I decided it needed someplace warmer so I slipped it behind the curtain and laid it on the windowsill to catch the last remnants of sunlight, crossing my fingers for the best.

Lesson Four: The pros and cons of alcohol use.

No, not that kind of alcohol, although I probably should have had more than the one beer Keith had given me, or something stronger like I considered earlier. This lesson was referring to the rubbing kind.

I left the cell phone to dry in the window then got back on the laptop, searching for other tips. Link after link said the same thing. Remove the battery and give it time to dry out. I could do that, but there was this one weird thing that kept coming up: soak it in alcohol. On the surface, that made absolutely no sense to me. Why would I soak something that I was trying to dry?? And for every bit of online advice saying to do it, there was another one saying not to. After each review, I was convinced one way or the other until I read another one.

There didn't seem to be any middle ground. The proponents said the alcohol would clear out harmful chemicals and whatnot that could damage the unit, and went on to point out that alcohol evaporates faster than water, so it dries more quickly. The opponents basically said you could damage the unit further by submerging it in more liquid. Both made sense to me. I worried over whether I should do it or not. How would I explain that one if it didn't work or made it worse??

Whether I used the alcohol or not, I had to follow the one common theme in the advice columns: wait a couple of days for it to dry slowly before trying it. I groaned again, visions of me pressing the 'on' button several times flashed through my mind. Not only did I not remove the battery, I sent little electronic pulses through it with every press of the button. Chances were slim that it would work even after a couple of days to dry.

How would I manage a few days without a phone?? There was one minor issue with that and it was sitting at the other end of the sofa with me. How would I deal with not telling Keith for that long?? How could I look him in the eye? How could I look myself in the eye? Plus, he would call Monday; we always touch base at some point during the day. What could I do to side-step that call? I was feeling worse and worse about waiting to tell him, even though I had a good reason not to.

You see, a lost or damaged cell phone didn't just mean trouble in our house, it meant an instant paddling. I don't know if you've had Instant Paddling before, but it's on the same aisle as Instant Oatmeal and Instant Pudding, if you want to try it sometime – but I wouldn't recommend it. It's really easy to whip up Instant Paddling at our house. All you do is add a killed cell phone, and abracadabra, you get Instant Paddling. It's served hot - not warm - on a bare butt.

That's because this scenario was one that we had visited so many times that there was no question what would happen and no need to try to talk my way out of it. It was a simple fact of 'if and then'. Plain and simple, cause and effect, cut and dried, over and out. So, like I said, it was a matter of deciding *when* I wanted to face the consequences, which I knew meant a paddling. There's never really a good time for that.

So I was definitely still looking for a way to make the phone work in the hopes that the outcome wouldn't be so bad. Anything to soften the blow (no pun intended), which is why I seriously considered the alcohol-soaking bit. If it dried the phone faster, then maybe I wouldn't be putting off telling Keith too long. I'd develop an ulcer in a few days.

"You're deep in thought." Keith's comment snapped me out of my little world. Deep in thought and deep in trouble, too, I feared.

A commercial blared from the TV and Keith dropped the volume while he waited for me to answer. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"What are you reading about that has you so fascinated?" he asked while massaging my feet.

"Just surfing," I said vaguely. "That feels good." I laid my head back against the sofa cushion and closed my eyes while Keith's able hands worked over the soles of my feet. I love it when he gives my feet a workout. He has such strong hands and he knows how to use them. I temporarily lost myself in his touch, able for a few minutes to escape the worry that had been gnawing at me all day.

He stroked his hand down the backs of my feet, ending the massage and I groaned in protest. "I could let you do that all night."

He laughed. "I wish I could, but I was just thinking I needed a snack. You want something?"

Back to the harsh reality of my plight. It was my chance to send the Blackberry for an alcohol dip if I was going to try that. I could go do it while Keith was in the kitchen. More plotting and planning.

"Sure. Whatever you're having is fine with me."

I got up when Keith did and went back upstairs. I frantically dug through the cabinet where we kept the medical odds and ends, hoping to find the alcohol quickly. I had a lot to do in the time it took to knock together a snack. I found a box of bandaids, a jar of Vaseline, a tube of salve – ah ha! There lurking in the back of the cabinet was what I was looking for. It had an angelic halo around it, a beacon in the night.

I grabbed it and stared at the bottle as though it were a Magic 8-Ball, holding the answer to my dilemma. Will this work? Ask again later. What are the chances this Blackberry will breathe again? Outlook not good. If it does work, will Keith let it go that I got it wet to begin with? Don't count on it.

Should I give the alcohol a try? Signs point to yes.

Hell, I was going for it. I couldn't see what I had to lose at that point, plus the Magic 8-Ball said I should. My Blackberry needed to be revived and somehow adding something medicinal made me feel like I was doing something useful to save it other than just sit back and wait. I went to the guest bathroom with the Blackberry and the alcohol in tow, then engaging the stopper in the sink, I dumped the alcohol in the bowl, and grabbed the Blackberry to throw it in. My fingers refused to let go of the little unit I held hovering over the germ-killing liquid.

Then I started to second-guess myself. What if I made it worse like the opponents said?? What if it would work given another day to dry out, but the alcohol was too much for it?? It wasn't like I swam for hours with it in my pocket, but it did get plenty wet. Wait! The links I read… were they talking about Blackberries or just cell phones?? I couldn't remember. What if the inside of a Blackberry was vastly different than the inside of a cell phone? But weren't they all about the same in this day and age? Same capabilities? Bluetooth stuff and all that?

In an unsuspected rush of bravado, a wash of perfect certainty – momentary lapse of judgment, perhaps – I plunged it into the waiting bowl of alcohol. It was done, for better or for worse. I swished it around in the sink, hoping like hell I wasn't putting the finishing touches on the unit, but it could already have been finished for all I knew. I was doing as I was told by the They of the internet. 'They' said to soak it in alcohol. 'They' said to let it dry a couple days. 'They' said to remove the battery. 'They' couldn't all be wrong, could they?

One thing was for sure, 'They' knew more about it than me and like everyone knows, you can believe it if you read it on the net.

But still, I didn't have the nerve to *soak* it in alcohol. Taking it for an alcohol swish - think of it as another little swim - was about as far as I could go. Actually, it was more like treading water, not even a full-fledged swim because I didn't leave it in there that long. I didn't have the nerve. That was partly because I was worried about dunking it to begin with and partly because the alcohol was burning little breaks in my skin I didn't even know I had. I yanked it out of the alcohol about as quickly as I plunged it in then I shook the liquid from it with a flick of my wrist. I blew on it, like that was going to help.

I let the alcohol go down the drain then stuck the Blackberry back in the window to dry out some more after patting off what moisture I could with a washcloth. I rushed back to the living room, hoping to get there before Keith started to wonder where I was.

"I was wondering where you went," he said as I darted back into the room. Not quite fast enough.

"Bathroom," I fudged. The half-truths were mounting up until I was in danger of having several wholes if I wasn't careful.

"I thought I was going to have put your ice cream back in the freezer."

"No, it's fine. Thanks."

Having done all I could do, I quit with the internet searching and settled down to wait. I couldn't rush drying time, not that I knew of anyway. Just about every blog I had read about wet cell phones and Blackberries commented that it took a couple days to dry out. Apparently, to cut it short could mean certain death if there was any moisture left and you added electricity to the mix by engaging the battery. I decided I needed to play it safe and leave well enough alone until Tuesday at the earliest.

Keith would call for sure during the day on Monday. Saturday and Sunday weren't the problem since we were together… unless he wanted me to call for pizza again. Monday was going to be a problem. Tuesday was going to be D-day, the day I would try the phone.

Lesson Five: Alternative means to reach out and touch someone.

The weekend went fine after Saturday and I was able to keep my mind off the phone for the most part. There wasn't anything I could do about it so I tried to put it out of my mind whenever it started nagging at me. Monday was a different story because I had to actively try to hide the phone incident again, bringing back reminders of Saturday and the pizza thing. I managed to skirt Keith's certain call on Monday by calling him instead about a thousand times that day.

"Do you miss me or something?" he laughed when I called again. I had racked my brain that day to come up with a list of reasons to call Keith and was on number 652.

"I forgot to tell you something," I informed him. "I was thinking we should try that new chicken recipe we saw in the Southern Living magazine. We should have most everything we need."

"That's fine with me, Murph," he said distractedly. "Do we have mushrooms?"

"Oh, no. That's the one thing I think we need. I can run by the grocery store on the way home."

Keith had that sound where I know he's multi-tasking while he's talking to me. I can't put my finger on it but I know it when I hear it. "Ok. Did we, um…" he started. Saying 'um' a lot is a clue that he's doing something else while we talk. "Did we, um – hang on – did we take the chicken out?"

I felt guilty tying him up – at least when there was no sex involved. He was obviously busy and I was taking him away from his work just to keep him from calling me. I felt like something someone stepped in. "You're busy. Go work and I'll worry about dinner tonight, ok?"

"I'm sorry. I really am kind of busy right now."

"Don't worry about it. I'll see you tonight."

I couldn't bring myself to call him anymore. I had done enough. I felt even worse at home later that night when Keith said he had tried to call me on his way home.

And he apologized. Get that. *He* apologized to *me*. "Sorry about this afternoon. I felt bad about having to hang up so fast so I called you on my way home," he said.

"Don't worry about it. I know you get busy at work, just like I do."

"I felt bad anyway. I couldn't get you, though, so I guess you had the phone on vibrate or something."

Or something.

"It didn't ring," I told him. My conscience was only mildly appeased that what I said was actually the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God. However true, it was misleading, and that chipped away at any credibility I might have had going for me. Keith let it drop with no more than a curious "hmmm" at my excuse.

Other than that near miss, Monday came and went uneventfully. The big event was planned for the next morning. Time to try the phone. D-Day. It had been just over two days and according to They, two days should do it.

Keith shuffled out of the bathroom that Tuesday morning, his mouth gaping in a yawn. "Mornin'," he greeted me.

"Morning," I echoed, rising from the bed.

I eyed the door and watched until Keith was well out of earshot before I got up to check the phone. I went straight to it after Keith left the room, and found it still hidden in the windowsill right where I left it. Any time you feel the need to hide something from your partner, it's never a good thing. There's another lesson in that but it isn't technologically driven, so you won't find it in bold. I shook off the uncomfortable feeling that was pulsing through me, took a nervous breath, and snapped the battery back into place on the phone. I turned it right side up: it looked normal to me, as if nothing had happened to it.

I inhaled a cleansing breath. "Here goes," I muttered to the Blackberry. "Please work, please work!"

It lay motionless in my palm, still pretending nothing was wrong, although both of us knew something was terribly wrong, and it wasn't just with a possibly broken cell phone. I couldn't bring myself to push the button. For days, I had wondered if it would come to life or not, and had asked myself what I would do if it didn't. Yet now, I found myself faced with a different, but equally burning, question: what would I do if it *worked*? It dawned on me that if it did, I'd find it harder, not easier, to tell Keith. It would be all too tempting to take my dirty little secret to the grave, my partner none the wiser, if the phone actually was reborn. I could get by with having dunked my phone in the pool. That had never been my intention, but would I be bold enough to rat myself out if there was no evidence to condemn me?

My thumb wouldn't move. It was stock-still, poised over the on button as I spiraled, lost in consternation over what to do. I had this sudden overwhelming sense of nervous relief as the answer came to me like a bolt of lightning. I was going to tell Keith before I tried it; I had to. After I had the answer, I realized that it was always better once I got to this point, and actually tried, oh, I don't know, *talking* to my partner. It wasn't often that I had to tell on myself, thank God, but it had happened on occasion over our time together. It's hard to describe how it feels after confession: it's a ton of relief mingled with a shot of dread, but definitely more of the former.

Part of the dread came from the knowing that Keith was going be disappointed in me, not to mention the fact I would get punished. But once all that was dealt with, I would have a clean conscience and there would be nothing ugly between us. That in itself was a relief and worth the price. I had to tell him and I needed to do it before I checked the phone. For one thing, he would know that I had come clean without knowing whether I had to or not. For another thing, it might help mend any breach of trust I might have created while I was making piss-poor decisions during the time when my good sense took leave of my brain.

There was a little bit of a selfish reason for my seemingly rational plan: I wouldn't be faced with a harder decision on whether to still confess my sin if indeed the phone worked. Hiding it from Keith to begin with reeked of dishonesty and I dreaded having to admit it. He was going to be annoyed, more at me not telling him earlier than anything else, I realized in hindsight. I hadn't been thinking clearly!

I bolstered my courage as I headed toward the kitchen, trying to ignore my feet clinging to my sticky web of deceit I had been weaving for the last few days. It really made each step difficult to take. How had I not recognized what I was doing?? Why did I refuse to see it before it got this far gone??

I found Keith waiting by the coffee pot, his eyelids heavy as he tried to wake up. He caught sight of me and was suddenly awake enough to grab my wrist and tug me close.

"Mmm," he groaned sleepily in my ear as he held me tightly. "Let's stay home and spend the day in bed. What do you say?"

I'd have said 'yes' except if I was in the bed all day, it would be because I was grounded there and not for any other reason.

"I wish I could, but I don't think you'll be in the mood to spend the day with me," I admitted. Even facing a paddling, my conscience felt a little better already with the knowledge I was finally doing the right thing. After several days of bad decisions, I was going to get it right at last.

"I'm always in the mood to spend the day in bed with you," he said with a smile.

"Not today you won't be."

He peeled me away from his chest and held me at arm's length with that comment. "Why? What's wrong?"

"It's my cell phone."

Keith's face fell. "Oh, no. Did you lose it?"

"It's broken, I think."

He crossed his arms and settled in for the story with a long sigh, seemingly heavy with the revelation. "What happened this time?"

"It was in my swim trunks' pocket Saturday. I forgot to take it out then Ryan pulled me into the water with him."

Keith's fallen face deepened into a frown. "Saturday?"

I nodded.

"Today is Tuesday," he declared.

I nodded again guiltily.

"Three days later," he continued.

Another nod.

He absorbed my confirmation and gave me one of those sighs mixed with disappointment and exasperation. You know the one. "Ok," he said after a million years, "it sounds like we have a lot to talk about later when we get home tonight. Be prepared to answer why it took you three days to tell me this."

Three days? He must have been counting Saturday. I was in no position to point out that Saturday was mostly over when it happened, thus, it shouldn't count. I nodded mutely for the fourth time.

"It won't work at all?" he asked.

I shrugged and handed it to him since I still carried the little fly in the ointment with me. "I couldn't get anything out of it when it happened and I haven't tried it since. It's been drying since Saturday."

"You haven't tried it since Saturday?"

"I was going to try it today, but I didn’t want to keep it from you any longer and I was afraid if it worked, I wouldn't do the right thing." I applauded myself for pointing out that while I had made an initial poor decision, I had eventually come to the right conclusion and yes, Murphy had done the right thing.

"The right thing would have been to tell me when it happened."

Ouch.

Keith took the Blackberry from me and tried the on button just like I did on Saturday. "Nothing," he said, officially pronouncing it dead.

"I was afraid of that," I sighed sadly.

"Is the battery charged?"

Lesson Six: Cell phone batteries do not hold a charge indefinitely. Duh.

You'd think I would have considered that, wouldn't you? Well, I hadn't. I had other stuff on my mind. It was such a simple thing. It HAD been three days if you counted Saturday. Maybe only the battery was dead and not the whole phone!

I could have kicked myself. There was hope for the phone yet! "I didn't think about that."

"Why don't you plug it in and get ready for work. We'll continue this discussion tonight."

I definitely didn't like the sound of that. My stomach was in knots the entire day. I wasn't feeling bad about not telling Keith anymore. I was too consumed with what was going to happen after work to beat myself up over postponing it. My stomach lurched every time it crossed my mind.

"What I'd like to know," Keith lectured later that evening, "is why you thought it was ok to wait to tell me."

"I should have told you right away," I confessed, albeit a little too late, "and actually, I did - if it counts for anything."

Keith's brow wrinkled in a frown. "I don't recall you telling me about this."

"Remember on Saturday when you wanted me to call the pizza place?"

"I remember. You told me the battery was dead."

"No, I didn't," I corrected. "I told you the phone was dead. You assumed it was the battery but I meant it was dead dead. The phone, not the battery."

"So you decided to just let me think it was the battery when I misunderstood."

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to admit something when you know what it means to admit it?" I demanded. It was hard to hand yourself over knowing full well that consequences were going to follow. Sure and swift ones. .

He lifted my chin to look at him. "I understand that it's difficult, but that isn't an excuse."

Difficult, yes. It was very difficult. I think the only time it wasn't difficult was the very first time. Back then, I wasn't sure that Keith would even go through with it and not only that, if he did follow through, I doubted it would be that bad. Looking back, it really wasn't that bad in comparison. Keith and I were both learning that first time. Don't get me wrong; it was plenty to get my attention. Keith definitely got the hang of consequences after that, and quickly, too. There was a severely short learning curve.

"I tried to tell you," I countered. "When you didn't understand what I meant, it was hard to work up to telling you again. It was like getting a free pass the first time."

"I'm afraid that pass wasn't free." That didn't sound promising in the least. "It has a cost associated with it," he added grimly.

Didn't I know it. It cost a lot more than a paddling. It cost me a little bit of trust; I was sure of it.

"I do appreciate you telling me about it before you knew for sure if it was broken or not, even if you suspected it wasn't going to fire up."

"I felt like crap hiding it from you. I really did."

"I'm disappointed most that you felt like you couldn't tell me right away."

I knew it. I hated disappointing him. Hated it like hell. "I was just hoping that when I told you about it, the phone would be ok and it wouldn't be so bad."

"The phone still made it into water, Murphy. You need to pay more attention and take better care when it comes to your phone. That's the issue and we've talked about it many times before." I knew he was going to say that. I nodded mutely. "So why was it in your swim trunks' pocket? We have a pool bag; it should have been in there."

"I know. I meant to take it out of my pocket," I muttered. "I had stuck it in my pocket on the way to the pool from the car and I just forgot."

He looked at me with some level of sympathy and he sighed. "I wish you had remembered."

"So do I."

I think Keith really did wish I had remembered to take it out of my pocket. It wasn't like he enjoyed what he was about to do, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to do it. He never seemed squeamish about it. He always approached it with a matter-of-fact efficiency, of something he had to do and needed to get it done and over with. He didn't mess around about it, never dragged it out.

He didn't this time either and my stomach turned over with his next words. "All right. You know what to expect for the phone. Go get the paddle."

I don't know why we ever decided to get a paddle in the first place. Sometimes, I seriously wished we hadn't. Like when I damaged or lost a cell phone. Getting a paddle was a joint decision. I mean, we talked about it when we went down this path initially, whether we needed implements or whatever. I used to get paddled on occasion when I was a kid so it seemed normal to me to have one around if CP was going to be involved. For Keith, he was never paddled so he didn't really have a strong opinion on it one way or the other. We decided to get it just in case, not really knowing whether we would use it or not, but understanding that sometimes we might need more than his hand. As it turns out, we rarely dust it off, thank God, but the times we do are memorable.

I had a sinking feeling that we were about to break some new ground on Memory Lane.

My butt clenched when I laid eyes on the paddle in our nightstand drawer and this sickening wave gripped me. I was *not* looking forward to this, not at all. Plus, it kind of bugged me that Keith specified that he was paddling me for the phone. I knew I was going to be punished for holding out on him and if he was segmenting punishments then there was more after this. How much more, I didn't know, nor did I know what form it would come in. Paddlings in our house are the ultimate punishment, usually. If he was giving me the Mother of punishments for the phone, what more would he do for the other? Why didn't he say he was paddling me for the phone *and* for misleading him? I could live with one paddling covering both things. I really could.

I couldn't worry about extra punishments right then. I had this one to worry about and that was enough. It was time to be consequenced. I had to try to ignore the emotions I was dealing with or I wouldn't be able to walk back to Keith, let alone hand him the paddle. It was almost dreamlike, a sort of out-of-body-experience feeling. I went through the motions of getting the paddle mechanically because I knew if I stopped, I might not be able to get going again. Then I would have gotten the "putting it off isn't helping" routine, which I hate. I KNOW it doesn't help, but it doesn't keep me from dragging my feet sometimes. I mean, I don't exactly want to go skipping back to him with song in my heart and a spring in my step. It's *bad*. Nothing to rush into, believe me.

"Hurry up, Murphy. Dragging this out isn't helping anything," Keith called from the living room.

And there it was even though I thought I was avoiding it. I guess I had taken too long after all while I pondered life, paddle purchases and what was yet to come. I picked up the implement we bought years ago and went back to Keith before he had to come looking for me or send out the hounds. I handed over the paddle as requested by his outstretched palm and resisted the urge to cling to it so he couldn't have it. I didn't say anything. I mean, nothing was going to change what was about to happen and I knew it.

"Ok, Murphy, pants down."

I never moved to do that before he told me to. I wasn't exactly in a rush to bare my butt to let it get whacked. I had changed into some loose-fitting shorts when I got home, knowing I wouldn't want anything tight on after Keith was done with me. I slipped them down just below my butt and then sent my briefs down to meet them. Keith grabbed my wrist and pulled me across his thighs before I could even think about changing my mind or trying to get out of it.

"Just so we're clear," he said above me once he had me where he wanted me, "should anything happen to your phone again, you're to tell me immediately. And that goes for any time you need to tell me something, whether it's phone-related or not."

"I will," I promised. I hated having a conversation with my buns staring Keith in the face. Talk about feeling exposed and vulnerable. That position had a way of reminding me of who was in charge in no uncertain terms, let me tell you.

He pulled my shorts and underwear farther down while he continued to talk, and I tried to remove myself mentally from what was going on. "This spanking is for the Blackberry." He said it as though we were raising our glasses in memoriam of the life and times of said Blackberry. To the Blackberry!

"You need to do a better job of taking care of your cell phone, Murphy. Think. Pay attention. Keep up with it. Handle it with care. You're not an irresponsible man. I know you can do better with cell phones. I've seen you do it."

The paddle found its way to rest harmlessly against my bare skin as Keith laid it on my ass. I flinched in spite of myself. I fought the urge to beg him not to do it and answered simply, "Yes, sir."

Those two words marked the end of the verbal part of the cell phone conversation. The paddle connected with my butt again, but this time with some force behind it, driven by Keith's strong arm. It repeatedly came down in a slow steady cadence until the million or so stings melded together to form an unbearable burn that spread clear across every inch of my butt. He didn't miss a single spot. My body was tense with the sheer effort of trying to handle it all and my throat ached as I struggled not to cry. The dam burst when Keith changed his rhythm to a flurry of quick staccato swats that effectively tore away any fiber of resistance I might have been holding onto. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't keep my legs from flailing in response, and finally, I gave it up, surrendered, and collapsed across his lap. My pride was nowhere to be seen by that time and I cried piteously into my arms folded over the sofa cushion, wishing that I never heard the words "cell phone", let alone ever owned one.

Even though Keith stopped, the pain in my seared backside kept smoldering. For what felt like an eternity, my whole world was my white-hot rear end and my face buried in my arms. At some point, my choking sobs subsided to hiccups and I became aware of Keith's hand stroking my back that was damp with sweat.

"Come here," he said gently and he helped me off his lap.

I took great care in pulling my shorts and underwear up, stretching the elastic of my waistbands to keep them from scraping across my sore butt. I gingerly clutched at my seat, but then changed my mind about that really quickly when the flames on my ass kicked up a stink about it. You'd have thought I touched it with kerosene-soaked hands. I let Keith pull me down beside him and I shifted my butt to keep from putting all my weight on it.

He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me close to his chest. "Like I said, that was for the phone."

I cringed. I couldn't take any more. I felt thoroughly wrung out, like I had had the stuffing squeezed out of me before being dropped in a heap on the sofa. "Keith," I started in a panic with a voice that cracked like a 13 year-old's.

"Murphy, let me finish." I wasn't sure I wanted him to but I was in no position to do a lot of arguing and didn't have the energy anyway. "Since you decided to keep the phone thing to yourself for three days, you're going to be grounded for three days starting tonight through Friday morning. No TV, no computer, no phone calls. You can spend your evenings in our room thinking about why you don't lie by omission to your partner. Don't think you'll be getting early bedtime, either."

That might sound on the surface like Keith was being a softie, but I knew better. His real motive was to make sure that I wasn't allowed to escape my boredom – and punishment – by fleeing to dreamland. Keith knew me too well. I had already been thinking plenty about having misled Keith over the last few days and really didn't believe I needed to think about it anymore but honestly, I would rather deal with being grounded than other options he might have come up with.

"And to prove to me you're thinking about it," he continued calmly, "I want a list of reasons why that was the wrong thing to do, and why you should have told me. I want that list, complete with well thought-out explanations, and you can have that done for me by Friday. I'll be checking your progress before then, of course."

Of course. That was one way to make sure I was doing what he told me to do and not just spending my time in our room staring at the ceiling. "I should be able to do that because it's all I've thought about for the last three days," I sniffed. "I've been feeling like crap about it since Saturday."

"There's a good one for your list; suffering from a guilty conscience. You'll have plenty of time to expound on that and anything else you can think of over the next few days."

"I won't do it again, Keith."

He kissed the side of my head. "Good. Have you checked to see if the phone works since you got home?"

"No." And I really didn't care anymore.

"Come on," he said with a pat to my sore butt. "Let's go see."

We went to the kitchen and Keith took the maimed cell in his hand. "Ready?" he asked me.

I took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah. See if there's any life."

"Here goes," he commented.

He pressed the 'on' button and the darn thing glowed in his hand. "It works!" I exclaimed.

"Looks like it. It's coming on, anyway," he said. "I don't know that it will function." He pressed a button or two, and made a test call to his own phone. Taking it away from his ear and disconnecting, he said, "Yep, it's working."

"I can't believe it," I muttered almost to myself. "I've put myself through hell for nothing. I got punished for nothing."

How soon we forget the issues.

"You should have taken it out of your pocket before you went swimming, Murph."

He's relentless. "It wasn't damaged, though! Doesn't that count for anything?"

Keith rolled his eyes. "You would have been paddled whether it worked or not, and you know it. The issue is you not taking care of your cell phone. Sending one swimming is not taking care of it. Did you forget that tidbit already?"

"But Keith! It was probably the battery all along!" Keith threw his hands in the air and walked away from me and my protests. "That's why it works! There was no electricity to mix with the water! Keith!"

He stopped and turned to me with his hands on his hips. "Did you get it wet?"

My mouth was open in protest. "But, Keith!"

He held up a finger to shush me. "Did you?"

I pressed my lips together not wanting to answer, but I did when Keith's eyebrows rose in question. "Yes."

"And are cell phones supposed to get wet?" he said conversationally with a disarming smile.

"No," I reluctantly replied.

"That's right, they're not." My face fell in defeat. "You're still grounded, too."

"But—it was—I don't think—" I stammered.

Keith put a finger to my lips to stop my babbling. "That's enough. Congratulations on not killing it. I wouldn't get it wet again, if I were you, though."

With that he patted my behind again and kissed my cheek, leaving me with my mouth hung open. Case closed.

So that's the story of my dead – or almost dead – Blackberry. I hope you can see why I look at it as a learning experience, and I hope you were able to learn something to avoid the hell I had to endure. If I can but touch one life, then it was worth it.

If I didn't help anyone out there, don't expect me to off another phone to reach out and touch someone. I've decided that isn't going to happen again. Ever. Cross my heart and hope to die.

End