Why I Should Never Own an iPhone

No one noticed I was gawking at the parents at Coco’s orchestra rehearsal. Were they watching precocious children play classical music on stringed instruments? No. They were fondling polymer and glass genitalia. Do I sound like Woody Allen in the movie, Sleeper?

Of the twenty adults waiting for rehearsal to end, only two weren’t holding a Steve Jobs invention. Yours truly and a woman nursing a new-born on the back row. I don’t blame them. Who wants to listen to Carol of the Bells for the fifteenth time in an hour?

I don’t have an iPhone because I’d have to refinance my house to pay the data charge, but I shouldn’t have an iPhone because of the message I’d send to my kid when I couldn’t take my thumbs off the screen long enough to pay attention.

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