So I don’t want to be overly dramatic and say it was like losing a limb, but anyone who has gotten their smart phone wet and had to wait a whole week, phone-less, while it sat in a bag of rice, would tell you it’s one of life’s more traumatic experiences.

I’ve decided the best way to describe it is to compare it to a really bad break-up, complete with feelings of abandonment, loneliness, and deep, self-introspection peppered with platitudes. (Do I really need a phone in my life? I got along for over 30 years without one just fine, thank you very much. I am my own person. No one thing defines me…)

It all happened so fast. I was absolutely blind-sighted. Yes, and I even found myself humming “Yesterday” by the Beatles as I moped around the house wondering why, oh why I had to bring my phone to the pool that fateful day. If I just hadn’t brought it there, things would be different!

Like any bad break-up, I kept playing the chain of events that led to my gloom over and over again in my head. I was taking the kids to the public pool for a little fun in the sun, that’s all. For whatever reason, I slipped the phone into the shoulder strap of my maternity suit while I unloaded my brood in the parking lot. Then before I knew what was happening, I found myself jumping into the shallow end after my two year old…and…and…all I can remember is her saying, “Mommy’s phone is wet!” followed by the proverbial, slow motion, “Noooooooo!”

I waited by that phone, day after day, hoping it would ring, but deep down I knew it wouldn’t. It was beyond repair, but I had to try, right? In vain, I kept checking to see if it would charge up, wondering if 24 hours submerged in the rice was enough. 48 hours? 72? 96?

Sadly, I realized I didn’t have any of my own friends that weren’t connected to me via the phone. The only telephone number I still had memorized was my childhood landline and who knew who had that number now?

No one could text me about playgroup. No one could call to tell me they were running late. No more friends, no more play dates. I desperately wanted to talk to my mother, but what was her new cell number again? What if I broke down of the side of the road? What if I went into labor? What would I do? Just like that (*snap*) I was cut off.

And it’s not just the people I was cut off from. My phone was my music, my books, my newsfeed. It was my camera, my camcorder, my calendar! I had a hard time getting out of bed in the morning, not for depression, but because my phone was also my alarm clock!

Naturally my thoughts turned to the possibility of a new phone. Could I be happy with another one? Would this one be an upgrade? Would it have all my old contacts? All my old apps? Would it ever be the same?

It was only a matter of time before I caved and marched into the Apple Store with Chris Daughtry’s “It’s Not Over” as my theme music and had a very frank conversation with some guy in a royal blue uniform.

“Do you know what’s it’s been like going without a phone all week long?” Only my sense of propriety kept me from grabbing him by the lapels and shaking him so he could sense my desperation.

I wasn’t the first crazed customer he’d seen. He knew just what to do and fixed me up with a new phone, identical to the last.

He also told me that come December I would qualify for an upgrade.

Now guess what I want for Christmas? I guess there are lots of fish in the sea. Not that I’m taking my new phone to the beach any time soon.

Read more by Margaret Anderson at