I have to tell you something.  And I really don’t want to.  It’s so embarrassing.  I mean, it’s so mortifying, I’d even rather tell you about the extra teeny, tiny nail on each of my pinkie toes. 

Um, yeah.  I have 12 toenails and only 10 toes. 

In fact, if there were a traveling cirucs in this day and age which featured freak shows, I’m pretty sure I could make a lucrative living displaying my 12 toenails in the booth between the rubber man and the bearded lady. 

Although I’m not an official member of the freak show circus, sometimes I feel like I am.  My husband thinks it’s so hilarious that I have 12 toenails, he tries to get me to show them off at parties whenever possible.  However, it’s usually after he’s had a drink or two, or five.

But that’s another embarrassing story for another embarrassing post.

What this embarrassing post is really about:  me and my tumultuous relationship with cell phones. 

Do you remember when I dropped my phone in a Lean Cuisine 5 months ago?  Just click here and and you can read all about it.

Do you remember when my phone was stolen from Target 6 weeks ago?  Just click here and you can read all about that time, too.

Now that you’re all caught up on my cell saga, I’m ashamed to say, I’ve done it again.  It happened today after my dad decided he wanted a drink of water.  He’s in town this week visiting me and my family and we were on our way home from the airport when he said he needed a swig of something to choke down a couple Tylenol. 

So, I’m all, ‘why don’t you just suck up some of your spit and swallow them?’

And he’s all, ‘No, I can’t do that.’

So, I’m all, ‘C’mon, dad!  You can too do that.  I do it all the time.’

And he’s all, ‘No!!!’

So, I totally blame my father for the ensuing chain of events. 

We’re in the car and pull through a fast food joint for a cup of water.  And since my dad loves to chew ice like cows chew cud (not that that doesn’t drive me absolutely insane or anything), he removes the lid of his drink as soon as he gets it, gulps down his medicine and sets the half full, lidless cup in the car cup holder.

I know, I know, that’s where people set their drinks in the car.  I do it all the time.  But here’s the thing:  that’s also where I always set my cell phone.

Always.

My dad shrieked and fumbled for the phone as soon as I plopped it in the lidless liquid.  I just stared at him in disbelief and laughed. 

And laughed. 

And laughed. 

 Not the ‘oh my gosh, that’s so funny,’ kind of laugh.  It’s the kind of laugh that comes out of a crazy person who slams herself against a padded wall for hours while singing  Row, Row, Row Your Boat.

So tomorrow, I get to go to the Sprint store and tell the guy I need another phone because I dropped mine in a cup off water.  And since I have insurance, he’ll look up my number and realize it’s my 3rd phone in 5 months.  That should be a fun conversation. 

Do you think he’ll feel sorry for me if I tell him I have 12 toenails?

I’m going to try it.