To my iPhone

A love-hate letter

Dear iPhone,

Our love-hate relationship has been going on for years. I need you to survive, and you need me to make good on your targeted ad sales. Gullible and impulsive, I have been keeping up my end of the bargain, but why would you refuse to share with my about-to-get-married daughter a video file that was only one minute and forty seconds long and contained all the vitally important information on how to turn a wedding dress train into a bustle? You had no problem sharing Eileen Fisher’s 15% off sale and extra 10% with promo code. My frustration feels as deep as my attachment to you; my right hand at rest assuming your shape, a claw-clutch 10 plus size, locked in my muscle memory.

You are the one to tell me that my children have landed safely. When I’m lost, you take me home. But you’re also really beginning to piss me off. You know for a fact I’ve researched Prevagen for healthy brain function. So why would you suggest that I change my Google password again? Simple. You’re a sadist.

I see how you’ve driven addiction, turning every Starbucks, airport, train, spare minute into a hand-held skid row, lost souls nodding out over their screens.

Good relationships are built on trust. I’ve given you no reason not to trust me, which is irrelevant because you leave nothing to chance, tracking my abandoned shopping carts and eye movements. I, on the other hand, have every reason not to trust you. In fact, even as I write this, I have no idea who you even are.

Still. I need you. For amber alerts. To god forbid call 911, to check the weather, to FaceTime with my beautiful grandbaby. I need you, but I hate your guts.

They say the only thing worse than hate is indifference, so yeah, I don’t even come out ahead of you there. But I can rebel in my small way by every single morning refusing that two-factor authentication you keep telling me about.

I wish I knew how to quit you, but now, Wordle! Good lord. You’re a monster. I hope you rot in hell, but please don’t ever leave me.