Boy vs. Tech

My hubby broke his telephone... again.

And I feel terrible about it. I know it's just me being sentimental, but it pains me when these things happen to him, and they happen to him all the time. He's a study in duality. He's a devil on the dance-floor; he teaches Zumba and Xco and other assorted modes of aerobics. And he's really, really, really good at it. He's got a shelf full of trophies and medals and awards he's won at national competitions. The whole nine. The works. But it's like his sense of bodily awareness ends at his own skin.

• If he's going to ride shotgun, make damned sure that there's nothing in the passenger seat before you unlock the door because he'll sit on it without looking.

• If it's made of glass and you let him hold it, consider it lost.

• Computers that have been evil in a past life come to my husband in this life as penance.

• He kidnaps remote controls and traffiks them to unknown lands where who knows what ungodly things happen to them.

• He's blown out the speakers in not one but two Samsung flatscreens within a year of purchase. (If you ever need to replace the speakers in a Samsung LED, feel free to PM me.)

• Cellphone parents scare their cellphone children into good behavior by telling them stories of The William.

It doesn't make me angry. We don't hurt for money (thank goodness) but it does make me feel sad when I think he's going without or finds himself in a bind because he's unwittingly flung his iPhone across the room, and God only knows how it happened. I was there and even I can't tell you. It's a mystery.