Is that my mobile phone vibrating in the back pocket of my jeans signalling a call?
Or my untoned ass jiggling as I stroll through town on my daily walk, Bailey tugging not so gently on her leash?
Yep. Missed call. Good lord. Another one.
With the colder weather ... the need for gloves to warm my fingers against the frosty morning air ... and the zippered fleece substituting for a warm weather lining under my quilted Barbour barn jacket ... I miss calls. Many of them. And that is too bad.
I only receive calls from a few of my dearest friends, my sisters and of course, the lovely Bobbie (my gorgeous mother who checks in daily if I don't first).
Talking on the phone accelerates my outings. Time zips by. Before I can say "holy shit, is that my phone buzzing or an errant nerve ending?" I am back at my front door.
The only problem presented is how to gracefully bend over to scoop up the remnants of Bailey's breakfast, balance my ever present water bottle while keeping the phone delicately in place between my shoulder and ear so as not to interrupt the conversation.
Dropping it on the cement sidewalk. Now that would be a disaster of the first order. Missing that infamous call from Dialing for Dollars. Unfortunate.
This is my lifeline. My rolodex. No one knows (nor do I want them to) the number of my landline.
I am too mobile. Me and the phone. We are well suited. We fit.
Maybe I should set the phone to Vibe and Ring. Place it in the pocket of my coat. Or leave it at home.