I have a very old mobile phone. It’s so old that it has Snake on it. Anyway, while waiting for my husband I managed to flatten my battery (playing too much Snake) so I just sat there and waited.
Frantic husband: I called you a gazillion times, why didn’t you pick up your phone???
Calm wife: My phone died. You said meet at this spot at 4.30 so here I am… waiting…
Frantic Husband: But I could have been late! Something could have gone wrong! I could have been in an emergency! You could have been in an emergency!
Calm Wife: This was fine back in the ’80s.
Frantic Husband: Shirley – it’s no longer the ’80s!! And you never even lived through the ’80s.
I lived through the mid 90s though. Same-same.
Anyway, because I have no new news to offer you about my current MS and also to answer the question of “how do you get your ideas?” (usually from my everyday life, the things that appear mundane to normal people, I try to make it amusing), here’s another raw, unedited snippet from my failed NaNoWriMo 2012 effort 🙂
“Halloween can be dangerous, you know,” says Mum. “Do you remember in the news last year how some kids got given cocaine instead of candy?”
“Cool,” I reply.
“You promise me you won’t get into mischief, Kellie?”
“Of course not. Mischief is only what Enid Blyton characters get up to.”
“Why don’t I trust you? As long as you stick by Kimberley. Now that’s a sensible girl.”
Halloween falls on a Wednesday this year, but no one seems to care that Thursday is a school day. There are rumours that James Palmer’s emo band is going to playing a secret gig at the party.
“Did you see it on Facebook?” Kimberley asks me on the phone.
“I don’t have Facebook.”
“Who doesn’t have Facebook?”
I don’t have Twitter, Tumblr or Hipstergram either. In fact I don’t even have a mobile phone. My parents gave me one for “emergencies” but I purposely hid it somewhere I wouldn’t remember.
“People were fine without it in the ‘80s.”
“It’s no longer the 80’s Kellie! Life is a lot more complicated. And there are… cyber criminals, like cyber punks and things out there these days. I just want you to protect yourself.”
I’ve hidden that mobile so well that even if I had to find it, I can’t remember anymore.
The only communication I have is my own personal line in my bedroom to a pink Princess phone. Sometimes I imagine myself lying on my bed and painting my nails while I talk to girlfriends about boys, like in a movie, but do you know how impractical that is?
Sometimes I imagine talking to Robert Palmer on the other line. Maybe he’ll tell me a bedtime story or he’ll do some rhyming couplets with me. I think its awesome how in “Simply Irresistible” he manages to rhyme inscrutable with indivisible and also principle and mythical. That’s talent. All everyone else can remember are the backup girls with the boobs.
In my room I also have an old TV and a VCR that I “inherited” off Mum. Plus all her old Robert Palmer videos.
One day Mum just decided to put the lot out on the curb. I rescued it immediately, went around and through the back door put it in my room in secret.
“That was fast!” Mum exclaimed. “People take anything these days it seems.”
Mum spent her teen years sitting in front of the TV with her finger on the record button so she could tape all the music video and interviews. Life must have been so tedious I think to myself as I watch clips with missed beginnings and chopped off ends. Then again, half the girls I know these days spend all their time sharing around emo pictures of headless girls and dead girls and dead, headless girls in prom dresses on their Tumblr and I can imagine thousands of teenage girls furiously looking and then tumbling along the images, all trapped in their dark caged rooms.
I’m glad I don’t have Facebook. I don’t care about boys like James Palmer, anyway.