She texts in the car,
She texts at the bar.
She texts in the store,
She texts more and more!
She texts watching TV,
On the couch next to me.
"Can u eat eggs with sell-by last Wed.?"
"Do u know the Super Nanny channel off top of ur head?"
"Do u think they'll cancel school?"
"Watching Glenn Beck; this man is a tool!"
She's everywhere at Onceler,
But here, with me, her Hunceler.
I will not, will not watch her text.
"I can not, damn not! What is next?"
I say,
to which she replies,
"I'm a texter now, okay?"
Finally.
As a photographer, I have to admit: I CANT STAND cell phone cameras.
So on one hand I understand your loathing of the texting concept. But
on the other- and yes, I’ve been known to snap a cell-phone photo
(phono?)- isn’t a quick text often easier than the whole “hi-how-are-
you-and-oh-by-the-way” bit?
A text here and there is one thing.
Sometimes I’ll be out and about with the kid and send my wife a photo of Scout’s hijinks.
But that’s a far cry from yakking with a dozen people simultaneously, whenever the mood strikes them or me, for whatever trivial reason.
That turns the whole world into a mad barroom where one is being interrupted whenever you’re not interrupting.
I like a mad barroom as much as the next guy. But I’m glad they have a closing time.