Which brings me to the question, what is smart?

I did not inherit the delicate French, pianist fingers that my daughter ended up with. The genes skipped a generation, and gave me my fat, kohlrabi-planting ones that fondly remind me of my German grandmother, working hard in her vegetable garden.

Vegetable plants don’t jump where they think they should go when you get near them. Links on my phone are activated not only because a fat finger gets in the way, but when a finger is nearby but doesn’t even touch! This is called convenience. Because actually pressing the link would take so much out of me.

Another convenience is when the phone rings when it is deep in my pocketbook. (If I’m driving, I should just forget it, and hope it’s not an emergency. Governor Christie tells me on my windshield sticker that I should “Put the Phone Down”, which is confusing because shouldn’t it be “Don’t pick up the phone in the first place.”?) The purse fumbling activates an inability to answer the call. Instead a list of handy text messages, like “Can’t talk now. What’s up?” or “Did you want me to pick up that movie with Meryl Streep?” pops up, requiring me to choose one in order to get back to a place where I can call back.

Being poor, my phone serves as my music player. Since it pretty much dials and texts what it wants at will, I don’t have any contacts in it that wouldn’t laugh with me were they to get the following text, discovered as a draft after getting home from my playlist-filled stroll around the neighborhood the other day:


To be fair, my phone often ignores links I touch 11 to 16 times, so it all evens out.