Call me (but only if you use AT&T)
She was lying down on a mattress endorsed by NASA in the investment banker’s apartment. It was her third night staying over. They had been on a handful of dates. She reached over the side of the bed to plug in her phone and saw that his charger had already been plugged into the surge protector. They had the same Blackberry.
She hadn’t noticed it before, but it was comforting. She knew then that she might have found her soulmate. All her other friends had iPhones. They were creatives: musicians, designers. But this guy was different. He had a smartphone that reflected his lifestyle. Work above play. Function over form. He was her type of man.
Then, suddenly, she heard his Bose stereo turned up all the way.
“FUUUUUUUUCK! THIS SHIT IS MY JAM! My boy Brody sent this to me from youtube and I’ve playing it nonstop all day!” he shouted to her over the Katy Perry/Ke$ha mashup.
She thought then that deciding she liked someone even partially based on their smartphone was a bad idea. Of course! How could she have been so dumb! His jeans were the first red flag. Ugh, his jeans. She should’ve known never to date a man wearing jeans that didn’t fit him right.
Next time she would not make the same mistake. He has to carry the right phone AND wear jeans that make him look like a grownup.
She promised herself not to make the same mistake again.
