There is an excellent chance I was born during the wrong decade. I can't keep up with my generation, though I rarely try. My wife is currently on the phone with our wireless company trying to figure out how to get a phone with buttons on it for me. This touch-screen nonsense is more than I'm prepared to deal with. I think my thumbs are too big.*
The following is a conflation of recent conversations we have had, all condensed into one big pile of awkward.
"Can you magic this for me?" I ask my wife, handing her a check. She takes it and without leaving the house deposits it in the bank. Apparently her phone is also an ATM. Automated Teller of Magic, if you will.
"Did you see Steph's away message today?" I ask my after using the Facebook.
"Away message?" She asks, squinting at me. "Do you mean her status update?"
"Yes?" I ask, wondering if that is indeed what I'm talking about.
"Can you flip the record?" I plead when the music stops. I do also have an iPod. Mainly because travelling with vinyl has proven to be rather impossible.
"Do you think that place on the corner can fix my pocket watch today?" I ask slipping it in the pocket opposite my handkerchief.
"What are you doing?" My wife asks after ten minutes of silence. Lengthy periods of silence alert her that I'm likely doing something I shouldn't. Or I'm eating.
"Trying to send a twit."
"Yes, I had a funny thought and word on the street is this is the easiest way to tell the whole world." Because apparently I'm supposed to alert the whole world of my every thought. I think the world loves it when I when I tell them my dog is learning how to dance. Who doesn't love dancing animals?
"I think it's called a tweet."
"So I'm twitting."
"No. You tweet on Twitter." My wife is met with my blank expression before my giant thumbs misspell the word "canine" and autocorrect gives me "acrobat".