Phone Slouches Steadily Toward Grave

Somehow I have managed to not lose my little Sprint clamshell phone for, oh, maybe two years or so.

I haven't left it in a cab as I fumbled around looking for crumpled-up ones and tried not to fall into the gutter at 3 a.m. I haven't accidentally lodged in between the couch cushions at the homes of any of my fake boyfriends as I slumped further toward the ground, drool accumulating as we melted our minds on hour after hour of reality TiVo. I haven't accidentally left it, along with my sanity, on the "service" counter at the airport as I juggled 47 bags, a snowboard, a laptop, and a missed connection.

Verily, it's a miracle. But now we have a problem.

I am rapidly approaching the upward limitations of my contact list, 300 in all. That I have managed to accumulate 300 contacts is yet another miracle, considering how many nights I hole up alone at home, eating Lonely Soup. I guess I'm more popular than I thought, or at least I aspire to be. Then again, none of these folks ever call me, so I take it back. And who are "Jimmy Philly" and "Todd Grumples" anyway? Obviously, these are not real people.

I assume that at some point during 2007, I am going to have to buy a new phone. But since it's been so long since I looked at them, I have no idea what I should buy. Anyone have any suggestions?

I guess it's time anyway. This weekend somebody pointed and laughed and said, "When did you buy that thing? 1989?"

One more item for the to-do.