I keep falling asleep with things in my bed. Regrettably, these things are not men.
The other night it was my glasses—not the best to cuddle with, I have to admit. They kept poking me in the ribs and made getting some much-needed shut-eye nearly impossible. Then it was my iPhone. Newly acquired, I have found myself loath to part with this fun little gadget. As I get under the covers each night it calls to me from across the room, just begging for one more game of solitaire or Words With Friends. It tells me the weather so that I know what to wear each day, it plays all my favorite customized radio stations, it provides me with important celebrity news updates, and I even downloaded an app that will interpret my dreams.
For the first few weeks we were in the honeymoon stage of our relationship: I bought it a cute pink case and plugged it in lovingly each time its battery ran low. Now we’ve settled into a cozy routine, and each day I find something new to admire about it. We rarely fight—only when the WiFi isn’t working.
According to this New York Times piece, what I’m feeling is common. I have fallen for my phone. Is this the next generation of romance? I wouldn’t be surprised. After all, my iPhone can’t claim that it isn’t over its ex, that the timing is off, or that we just don’t have chemistry. It’s the perfect rejection-free relationship.
Or is it? Last night I decided it was time to take things to the next level. “Will you be my boyfriend?” I asked Siri. After a moment of deliberation came the reply: “I’ve never really thought about it.” “Does that mean yes?” I asked nervously. “Hmm…Let me think,” the robotic voice responded. And then: “I don’t know that. Would you like to search the web for it?”
It looks like Apple is going to have to try a little harder when it’s time for the next upgrade.