No. No, dear heart, I did in fact NOT get your text.
I don't get texts.
*waves my hands at the collective gasps*
Nolan didn't sign us up for a text plan. He doesn't think it's going to catch on.
... I'll wait here while you make flabbergasted/hysterical noises.
That's what I tell people, anyway. Because they just don't understand WHY I don't have texting on my phone. Or internet access. Heck, right now, since I lost my fancy schmancy POS Blackberry (I couldn't ever hear that thing RING), I don't even have more than one ringtone.
I was without a phone for half of January and most of February, in fact. I lost my phone (in the HOUSE, of all places, and then I let the battery die before I could CALL it to find it) and at first I was irritated beyond belief. Not having a phone at my disposal whenever I had the whim to place a call was maddening. Spoiled, rotten brat, right here. *waves*
Then I got to LIKE it. I'm enough of a misanthrope that I LIKE being unreachable. I enjoy retreating into my cave and knowing that I'm cocooned until I do something to change that fact. It's dangerous, though. That isolation. But I digress.
Now that I have a replacement phone (a GO phone. It's the AT&T disposable model), I'm reachable, again. It doesn't have any cool features, but people can call (and I can hear the bloody thing RING). I can't call anyone, though. Why, you ask? Because of modern technology, no one has to remember phone numbers, anymore. I had every phone number of anyone who'd ever called my cell programmed into that little puppy that got lost, and never thought to write any of them down anywhere.
So when the phone doesn't ring, folks, it's me. I don't know your number. Sorry. I really am. No, honestly. I might like to call you, but it's not in the cards.
Speaking of modern technology, I'm not convinced that making everything so easily accessible and digital isn't Big Brother's way of turning our minds to collective mush. On purpose. But that might be the paranoia, talking.
In any case, some of you might be wondering, "Carrie? You have a credit card and a car. Why don't you go down to the store and get yourself a phone with some action on it?"
Because quite frankly, it isn't worth the litter of kittens that Nolan would have to do it. The noise. The screeching. The eyes rolled back into my head lectures about how it isn't necessary and how it's money we don't need to spend.
And we don't. Not really. But I remember him saying something similar back in 1999 about getting a computer. And email. We didn't need it.
Now, however, a good portion of his business is done online. So now it's just a waiting game, really. And I'm patient, baby. I'm more patient than you can imagine. I'm going to outlast him, by golly, and in August, when we get a new phone plan, I'm going to have worn him down to so stumpy a nub that he'll be begging ME to get the texting plan.
Those of you who know him can stop laughing now.
But seriously, folks. It you ask me the title question, "Did you get my text?" in August, I can answer differently.
I won't, though. My answer will remain the same, because chances are, I won't be able to find my phone.