I am still quite ill. But laughter is the best medicine.
Mom read PaperGirl yesterday and saw that I was sick, so she called. She asked if I had a fever; I told her I don’t know because I don’t have a thermometer. I felt strangely embarrassed about that, like I was a twenty-two year-old dude living in an apartment with an X-box, an amp, and a bunch of Chinese take-out containers in the kitchen. That guy does not have a thermometer. Thermometers are things people have when they grow up. What does this say about me?
“You know, for all the things smartphones do,” Mom said, “They ought to be able to take your temperature.” She was driving with Mark and Scrabble back from Door County to Iowa. I laughed because she is so right.
“Just think,” she said, “You could put your tongue on the screen and it would read your temperature. Or, or! You could put it in your buttcheeks, like a baby!”
I was mid-sip and sprayed my tea all over my blanket and some of the couch. Mom suggested that putting your smartphone under your armpit would be better, maybe, than in your “buttcheeks.” I agreed. We decided if your smartphone could take your temperature in either of these places, there would be no more phone theft. Ever. Find a cell phone? Leave it right there. Some kid’s thinking about snitching someone’s new iPhone MXII when they’re not looking? Tell that kid to think about that person’s last bout with food poisoning. They were so feverish. So sweaty. They had to take their temperature… Several times…
“I really need to feel better tomorrow, Mom. There’s so much to do. I wish Scrabble was here to cuddle with.”
“Yeah,” Mom said. “She’s a good hot water bottle.”