The guilt is killing me so I may as well fess up.
I recently got one of those Trac-Phones by Motorola. The phone is only $8.98 cents and you pre-pay the minutes in one hour increments for 20 dollars. It came with 20 minutes free and that's all I can afford so I don't get to really use it. I can't really give out my phone number.
But it will be nice to have if I'm ever in the car and have a flat tire I can call AAA. Or if I get locked out of the gate at work I can call and get buzzed in by somebody.
But the thing is, I'm so smitten with the idea of finally having joined the 22nd Century that I walk around pretending to be talking on my cell phone. I drive with it glued to my ear, giving every indication that I'm asking for directions to the Pentagon or asking someone how far apart her contractions are so that I can be there in time to deliver her baby.
I go out back to the laundry room or the garbage dumpster loudly exclaiming as if the person on the other end of the line is in a major crisis or just a very vehement story teller who expects vehemence in return.
Sometimes I just pretend that I have a best friend who wants a blow-by-blow tale of my every move. "Yes, yes," I say! "They are totally OUT of my kind of ink cartridge at the Office Max. I know, I know, I'm just going to have to try some place else."
You know, important stuff.
So, yes, I admit it.
I'm a Cell Phony.