I am terrible at charging my phone. I try to make it seem endearing, and say, “Oh! That’s just part of my charm.” But it’s so not endearing. Here is one of my earliest, non-charged phone moments:

My phone at the time.

Me as a freshman.

When I was in 9^th grade, I had a major crush on a junior boy. He had bright blonde hair, sounded like an angelic soft rocker when he sang and was totally aloof. (There is little better than an aloof older boy to a freshman girl. Something about them…)

Anyway, after leaving the cast party for our school’s production of “Fame,” aloof boy drove me home. I was so caught up in the moment that I forgot to tell my friends and my parents how I was getting home. When I realized this, about ten minutes into the thirty-minute drive, my phone died. A lot of my worst stories start like this.

First day of high school.

To be clear, nothing happened and aloof boy remained, true to form, entirely aloof. However, I was grounded for two weeks, and was met at the car door by my uncharacteristically enraged mother. (While there is little better than an aloof older boy, there are few things as traumatizing as getting reprimanded in front of one.)

Suffice to say, that little romance was a bust. Although that unfortunate occurrence was not the ultimate deterrent… And still, I have not learned to charge my phone. Badabing badaboom!