Mr. Bailey sighs, content. Focused, yet relaxed.
He extends his long, strong index finger slightly out in front of him and uses just the tip of it to press tenderly. His eyes light up, a soft smile plays at his full lips, his eyebrows push up in anticipation and excitement.
Then he slowly strokes his finger down the smoothness with a precise pressure.
Late in the evening, at the end of a long day of rushing around with work, civic duties, running errands, here in the darkness of the day passing, it’s time.
It’s time for some intimate contact with his new iPhone.
“Hhhmmmnnn,” he sighs.
He doesn’t even know he’s made that blissful sound. But I, Mrs. Bailey, do. I see him there, his head cocked at that certain, I’m-looking-down-at-my-phone-leave-me-alone angle, his eyes illuminated blue by his personal screen.
“I love this show, don’t you?” I ask.
Silence, more stroking, and pushing the screen apart to zoom.
“He’s so good in this role!” I note about one of our favorite actors.
I am dust in the wind and the iPhone completes him.
To be fair, we’re watching television together, so I am not 100 percent focused on him either. But this TV watching, it’s kind of our thing. It’s our unwind, chit-chat, catch-up and laugh moment that comes as a reward at the end of our beehive days. Sure, we get absorbed in shows, but we’re absorbed together. And we talk about them later. It’s fun.
But not anymore.
I take a moment to attempt to balance the jealousy and irritation I feel with the following:
- how hard he works
- what a good heart he has
- what a good father he is.
(Nope, still on iPhone.)
I know he’s dying to see the next episode of Parenthood just as much as I am and he’s about to turn it off or put it down.
He’s really not a techno geek, so I am sure, any moment now he’ll put it down.
I must face it.
The other woman is his iPhone and he is out of his mind for her. Just accept it and move on.
I suppose the good folks at Verizon held out as long as they could, (thank you for that) but right now that provides only a little consolation. How long will this love affair last? How hot will it get? Will I even be here when he returns from his pleasurable side trip, device packed with apps he only uses for the two hours at the end of the day we spend together and, even then, “just to test them out?”
Really? You have to watch that YouTube clip now? It’s imperative you show me that odd maternity photo some girl you knew in high school has posted to her Facebook? Now is a good time to download that application that scans logos to tell you exactly where you are? (Pssst, babe, we’re at home!)
Relax, I tell myself. Yoga breaths. You are a well-spoken, 21st century, tactful Mary Bailey, respectful, understanding, and a kind partner. Handle it the best way you know how.
“Can you PLEASE put DOWN that $^&*@ PHONE?!!!”
Ahem, thank you.