"Where's my cell phone?"
C. asks me that on an almost daily basis. So frequently on some days that it seems like she's trying to make up for lost time. Law of averages I suppose.
You'd think that with something that was so vital for her to be in possession of at almost all times; that she would be, you know, in possession of it. But apparently not so much. "Did I get your email about the deadline push-up? No, but I did find that totally cute pink scarf that I've been looking for for 3 months while I was looking for my cell phone!"
So whenever she's next due for an upgrade, I'm going to see if Verizon will let me activate a traffic-cone-orange, Zack Morris phone.

Knock a mf'er out with it? Yeah, there's an app for that.
That, or maybe I'll glue a PASS device to it so whenever she leaves it somewhere for more than a minute without moving it, it'll start going off. She'll always know where her Crackberry is then, I guarantee it.
I just know I need to get this rectified before we have a kid...
D.
OK. But If i have to have a Zack Morris phone, it can't be orange. It has to be pink. I veto the orange.
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