That was my reaction when I realized late last night that I’d left my iPhone in my date’s car. On mute. So unless he happened to find it before the battery died, I’d prolly never see it again. Or him again for that matter, since he’d never know why I wasn’t taking his calls. (And when a handsome southern fella, who’s job is saving endangered species and did his post graduate work on baby black bears, wants to call you, you want the option of picking up.)
Then I recalled that Jesse had made me take the time to set up my email and phone contacts to sync, meaning I could pull up Andrew’s number from my computer.
I got a few hours of sleep after that, and called the next morning. We agreed to meet this evening to hand off my electronic baby, and I started giving him directions about what to do with the various alarms and functions of the phone, until I realized I would prolly hand off an ACTual child with less instruction.
Anyway, the moral of the story, aside from that one should always do everything Jesse instructs you to do, is that I should prolly look into the possibility of having my iPhone surgically attached to my hand.