Gee, where’s she going to put the iPhone when she’s done with it?
Maybe that’s what the lady walking behind her is for.
“Gee, where’s she going to put the iPhone when she’s done with it?”
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It’s probably glued to her hand, like my sister’s is.
One time—and this is a true story—she called me up, crying while driving over 100 miles, going back home from some work meeting upstate which apparently had not gone well. Either that or she was in a fight with her boyfriend.
To top it all off, it was raining and she was on a four-lane highway, going 70+ miles an hour.
AFter she yelled at some driver who had cut her off or done something else to offend her, I said, “Are you calling me from your car? I am hanging up NOW.”
Someday, some ingenious geneticist will develop a baby that comes with its own phone—let’s call it a hand phone, or something like that—pre-programmed, with infinite minutes, etc.
She had a blondtourage, an entirely blond entourage, back then.