You arrived in the mail today, all shiny and black and with that new phone smell. I liked you a whole, real, lot Blackberry Storm. I'd waited a long time to get you, after all.
Some people said we don't belong together. They said I could do better than you; that I belong with an Apple iPhone or a Droid. I scoffed at those people, Blackberry Storm. I scoffed so hard, I burst a blood vessel in my eye.
Besides, Verizon won't let me near an iPhone and let's face it, if I had Droid money, I'd spend it all on Pinot Noir and false eyelashes.
No, YOU were my choice, Blackberry Storm. It was gonna be me and you forever.
And by forever, I mean two years down the road when the knee-breakers at Verizon have decided I am once again free to phone shop.
So here's why I'm writing you this letter, Blackberry Storm... I'm writing because I can't call you because I don't know how to MAKE A PHONE CALL on you! I'm serious. If anyone in the house should suffer a medical emergency during the night, I will have to go to a pay phone in the morning to call the coroner to pick them up.
It's true. If a band of robbers decide to break in my house tonight and try to steal my fine china or my collection of marriage certificates, I will be forced to defend my property by myself as I am convinced you came without a 9 or a 1.
I suppose in all honesty maybe I CAN rid my home of assailants with your help, Blackberry Storm... but it will involve my physically chucking you at their heads and hoping that like the Warren Commission's bullet, you can twist and turn and take them all out at one time.
Yes, I know you and I need some time together for me to learn how to do more than stare at your screen, wishing I'd paid Verizon extra to have you come with numbers. I'm sure that if I'll just give you a chance, and really explore who you are, I can learn to love you.
Meanwhile, this Pinot has never been more Pinot-ey and my eyelashes have never been more luxurious or far reaching. Unfortunately I can't call my friends and tell them about it.
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