Joanne Palmer: This time, I mean it |

Joanne Palmer: This time, I mean it

Joanne Palmer

I am a liar.

This is a hard thing to admit, especially in print, because up until recently, I’ve considered myself a scrupulously honest person. I have never lied about my age, weight, income or marital status. I might fudge a bit on my hair color but only because I’ve been highlighting it for so long I have no idea what the actual color is. I guess I’m a questionable blonde. However, a recent event made me realize I lie to myself on a daily basis. The big whopper, the five-word falsehood, is:

I’ll never do that again!

Here’s what happened.

I am the questionable blonde owner of Miss Pink, a Motorola Razr cell phone. I love this phone. The phone is everything I am not: slim, sexy and sleek. I use it on a daily basis for my personal and professional life. I tell time with it. I have whispered thousands, okay, bazillions of words into her ear. My phone has heard me cry, complain and croon, and still, she remains loyally in the pocket of my purse. I, likewise, am loyal and do not trade her in for another phone with more razzle-dazzle features I can’t understand.

One day, I looked at Miss Pink and her display read, “!!##??” I rushed my dear phone, my best friend, my confidante, into the nearest phone hospital and they dispassionately pronounced her DOA.

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Furthermore, they insulted the dearly departed by saying, “We’ve had more problems with this phone than any other.”

And so, naturally, I placed an order for Miss Pink II.

A long, quiet 48 hours passed, and then, due to weather, another 24 hours dragged by. I’d like to write that during this time, I behaved nobly and enjoyed the peace and quiet. I’d like to write that I read Proust and engaged in a stirring intellectual discourse on foreign policy with my friends and family. But, no. I behaved rather poorly. I sulked. I whined about the weather. A lot. I battled my 10-year-old son for his phone only to be told, “I’ll rent it to you for $5 a day.”

That is when I heard the annoying voice, a voice I later recognized to be a liar, start:

I’ll never do that again!

I’ll never do that again!

I’ll never do that again!

I vowed when my new pink beauty arrived, I would do everything to keep her dry. I would buy a waterproof case for Miss Pink II and not talk on the phone while around snow or other wet surfaces.

I was full of good intentions. I really was. But I am also busy. And so, two weeks after receiving Miss Pink II, I watched her slip from my grasp and sink to the bottom of a hot tub. I considered performing mouth to phone resuscitation but decided, even for a questionable blonde such as myself, that didn’t make a whole lot of sense. I rejected other emergency measures: burying her in a bowl of rice – rice absorbs moisture – and subjecting her to the force of a hair dryer, but in the end, I simply called the 800-number for the insurance company on my son’s phone.

And so, I’m moping and sulking and not reading Proust around my very quiet house waiting for another replacement phone.

I’ll never do that again!

This time, I mean it!

And the blonde part is no longer so questionable.