It started out as a regular morning: I scrambled to get the kids ready for school and out the door on time. My husband took them. But he had only been gone for a minute before he called my phone.
"Coby forgot his glasses," he said. "I'm coming back to get them. Can you bring them to the garage?"
"I'm already on it," I told him, glasses in one hand and phone in the other. And when the garage door opened, I was waiting. I handed the glasses through the window and waved as they backed down the driveway.
But I waved with my phone hand. A little too zealously, I guess.
It was like slow-motion. I watched as my month-old iPhone 6 - a gift from my husband to replace my old phone that ran like a turtle - launch from my fingertips and sail through the air. I watched it land flat on its face on the cold, hard garage floor. I heard the sickening crack of electronics against concrete.
I picked it up, hoping against hope that it was awesomely shatterproof. But alas, when I turned it over, this is what I found.
My mind flashed back to the day I got the phone. "You should probably get a case," Curtis had suggested, knowing full well I'm
In the grand scheme of things, my life could be exponentially worse, so I'm chalking this up to a lesson learned and trying to move on. In my privileged first-world bubble, though, it still sucks.
I think my fingertips might be permanently shredded. But it was my turn on Words with Friends, so what choice did I have?
I'd better win this round.