ONE HUNDRED FIFTY…a ring a ding ding

We do not own a home-phone.

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We rely solely on our cell phones for EVERYTHING.

So it’s no surprise when we walked into our hotel room, Cecilia was magnetically drawn to this huge strange-looking thing with buttons that you can push. And let’s not forget the banana looking thing which oddly enough is just the perfect distance from your ear to your mouth. I must say, she figured it out pretty quickly.

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I felt really old. I was immediately teleported to my grandparents’ upstairs hallway in the year 1982 (I was 5 years old) where the ominous black rotary dial phone sat regally on the hall table. When the sun would shine through the east bedroom window, it would rest its light on the sinister presence.  I was a little girl and that phone and its steroid ring gave me  the willies.

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The phone in our hotel room certainly did not give Cecilia the willies. She was so taken with it I thought to myself, “We should get a phone for home, just so she can play with it.” My follow-up thought was, “Where on earth do they sell an old school touch-tone dialing phone?”

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Soon after her bath, I had to un-plug the phone. Cecilia kept dialing the front desk and other random service numbers in the hotel. When I unplugged the phone, she was very disappointed not to hear voices on the other line and quickly became uninterested.

Typical.

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