The 21st Century Ain't What It Used To Be

As much as I felt loathe loath (thank you, grammar patrol!) to do, this weekend I finally gave in and got a cell phone. Now I can rest assured that should I show up at a bus depot outside Chicago on a snowy, shivery day, Liss and company will be waiting curbside to greet me, trusty car heater pushing back the frost, all because I'd called ahead to let them know my arrival time. Such are the conveniences of the 21st century.

Of course, I immediately sent my new number to Melissa, and a short while later her inaugural text message hit my screen: "Ur an asshole." I respond with the equally clever and mature "You are!"

Now I totally feel like Buster Crabbe, living in a future where messages are beamed through time and space in the blink on an eye, and I am told, once again, that I'm an asshole. Welcome to the 21st century.

Sometime later she emails me "Btw, please tell me that 'ur an asshole' was the first text message you got."

"It was the first one I got calling me an asshole." I love the 21st century.