It has not yet been recorded that any human being has gained a very large or permanent contentment from meditation upon the fact that he is better off than others.
Main Street, a 1920 bestselling novel by Sinclair Lewis* that I finished this week, includes several of these little bon mots, but this particular line leaps to mind today. I know people with bigger troubles, but that’s not taking my mind off my little ones.
Mostly I’m focused on the fact that I had the first part of a root canal today and now my mouth is halfway numb and not working (making my coffee difficult to drink) while simultaneously throbbing with a deep, burning pain. (Not from the coffee.) I’m impatiently waiting for the painkillers to kick in. And contemplating how I have a minimum of four more dentist visits to finish this fix, all of which will require shots in the mouth that will heighten my paranoia that Dr. Bill or Dr. Dennis will sever a facial nerve in the process.
It could happen. Dr. Dennis told me so.
Also, The Big M has been out of town on business. I miss him. At least he’s coming back today.
And I’ve been working on my taxes. That’ll depress anyone.
And … (this is the embarrassing one) … I dropped my iPhone in the toilet. At least that didn’t happen today. I dropped it earlier this week. Today it’s working, thanks to a relatively inexpensive fix at a shop appropriately named Cell Phone Repair. I didn’t tell the Cell Phone Repair people *how* I got the water damage because I didn’t want to end up on Not Always Right.com. Unfortunately, Cell Phone Repair doesn’t guarantee their fixes in case of water damage, so my phone could crap out again at any time.
Ha ha. But really, it could.
Would you like to know what happens when you drop your iPhone in the toilet? First, your heart sinks at approximately the same rate as the phone does. Then you reach your hand into the toilet and pull the phone out in one swift motion while exclaiming, “Ick! Ick! Ick!” Then, as you do a quick visual scan of the bathroom to find a towel appropriate for drying the toilet victim, you glance down at the iPhone screen and see that a message has popped up. It says (and I am not making this up): “This accessory is not compatible with the iPhone. Would you like to switch to airplane mode?”
As I went through the drying out process, I wondered what kind of toilet might be compatible with the iPhone. Because apparently I could use one of those.
As I sit here planning out my pity party, I think to myself — What Would The Girl Do? If one were to throw a Pity Party Parade, she’d be the Grand Marshal. The child knows how to do it.
And then I chanced upon this:
Now the other side:
Open it up and:
Cuut! I love it!
She got exactly what she wanted in a card because she made it for herself! Now it’s my turn:
To Me, From Me:
Cute! I love it!
I feel better already. Part of that is because the painkillers are finally kicking in. But still.
Next week we’ll get flooring, and at that point I’ll get fully moved in to the library. Then I’ll post more pictures.
Have a great weekend!
* Sinclair Lewis is not to be confused with Upton Sinclair, author of The Jungle. I tell you this because I used to confuse the two of them and I want to spare you from having this problem. And now, looking at the Wiki entries, I see that not only did they know each other, but Lewis lived in Sinclair’s cooperative-living colony in New Jersey. Weird.
Categories: Brain Workouts, The Kids, The Library
Tags: Main Street, Sinclair Lewis
“As I went through the drying out process, I wondered what kind of toilet might be compatible with the iPhone. Because apparently I could use one of those.”
You asked for it…
*facepalm* I should have known I’d have options.
I hate to burst your bubble on this one, but I’d bet money the fellas at Cell Phone Repair knew EXACTLY how your iPhone got water damage.
I had to help someone replace a toilet because their phone was forever stuck in it after a freak toilet texting accident.
Your pain is shared, my dear (just ask my mom).
Quit bursting my bubble, Cardelia! BTW, Kiki decided to share my story with the lumberyard workers this weekend, and one of the guys had done the same thing. Apparently I’ve stumbled into membership in a filthy underground (underwater?) club.