Funny about texting. It seems complicated until you try it, and then you see how easy it is. How convenient. Soon enough it becomes addictive. The bell goes off, telling you have a message, and your fingers twitch. I have (I blush to confess this, and I don't do it any more) replied to texts while driving, which has to be one of the stupider uses of modern technology. I feel like a zombie, reaching out for my phone ... MUST BE CONNECTED. Yeesh. Sam is a latecomer to texting. Last year his cell phone bill was non-existent. But he is an addict now, all right -- I was investigating a ridiculous phone bill a few months ago, and the person at the Rogers store told me that Sam had sent 3000 texts in that billing period. My jaw dropped. A hundred texts a day. Double yeesh. I changed plans at once. Forget long distance, internet, frequently called numbers: just give me more of that sweet sweet texting. And it seems to be the way of the future. Friends have a toddler (also named Sam) who was playing with Mommy's phone last time we were over. Playing how? you ask. Well, remember how your toddler played telephone, holding it up to her ear, babbling into it? You probably played that way yourself -- they've had toy telephones since the 50s. But this Sam -- like my son Sam -- had the phone open in front of him, and was busy pushing buttons. That's right. Fourteen months old and already texting the infinite. I assume that Fisher Price has come out with a folding button-pushing toy, maybe with digital display. The old model with the the cord and rotary dial has about as much relevance as a Victrola Phonograph.
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