I am the first to tell you that I am the most ham-fisted, clumsy individual in the world. There is an infamous scale in my family where they describe something as ‘Kirsty-friendly’ as a level up from ‘child safe/friendly’. I’m 26.I proved that theory recently as I managed to drop my phone by holding onto it tighter. I know. I did this outside, on my driveway when I was in a rush, naturally. Not only did it hit the ground, it bounced twice and landed face down on the stones. Had it only fallen once, it was fine. The bounce onto it’s face was the final straw. Shattered but alive, it soldiered on for a few days until it completely died when I was halfway through replying to a text from my future mother-in-law. Great.
I write this the night before I get my phone back, and I’m ashamed to say it’s been the longest few days without it. I would never have said I particularly relied on my phone that much, but enjoyed the security and comfort of knowing it was there if I needed it. However, this week has taught me otherwise.