Puddled

So... when I turned it on it merely exhibited a ghostly glow.

The display screen of my phone, that is.

No icons, no nothin’.

It teased me by dying a slow death, leading me to think it was OK in spite of the H2O, but no.

Thing is... it was my second phone in recent history that died drowning.

The first slipped out of my sweat-jacket pocket when I was cleaning the bathroom, and fell into a bucket of soapy water. That’ll teach me to clean bathrooms on my day off when I should be relaxing.

The second met a watery grave. Literally.

It was last Saturday when we were exploring historic Portsmouth, leisurely meandering through Point of Graves which is, you guessed it, a graveyard. Very old. Graves dating back to the 1600s.

One memorial was low and flat, and featured a puddle.

“Must have been a statue there at one point.” my husband said of the diamond shaped depression which was currently filled to the brim with rain water.

“Oh.” I laughed, “That must be. I was standing here wondering who in the world would wish, ‘I wanna be memorialized by a puddle.’”

And then... I bent over to see if I could make out who was memorialized by a puddle, when my phone slipped out of the breast pocket of my shirt, and, you guessed it, fell into the puddle.

And died.

RIP

phone.
.