Last Christmas you gave me your heart, but the very next day I tried to give it away.

As you may or may not be aware, I’ve been using my iPhone to type out my blog posts. This being my preferred method of typing out my blog posts. This also being my preferred method of using any of the computing technology that I own. That being, using my iPhone above any other computing technology that I own. That being said, I quite enjoy using my iPhone. At least, I did up until Dec 26th 2016.

A lot of people didn’t like 2016. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because they weren’t using an iPhone. I thought that 2016 was alright, because, at the beginning of it, I bought an iPhone, and throughout 2016 used my iPhone extensively to not only type out blog posts, but to do practically everything there is to be done on a computer. Except open it like a laptop. For that I bought a laptop. But for 359 days of it, I would say that 2016 was bang on an undisclosed currency of any given kind.

On the 29th of Dec 2016, I dropped my iPhone into a bowl of tomato soup, completely submerging it. This might have bothered me had I not, three days earlier, “upgraded” to Windows 10.2.

I skipped Windows 10 and 10.1 for iPhone in order to avoid all the initial bug complications that are always unquestionably included with any upgrade. To anything. Ever. And by the time I got around to getting sick enough of repeatedly being interrupted in the middle of doing something I needed to be doing (being anything, because, iPhone) by prompts to do something I didn’t need to do (upgrade the i?OS) I unwittingly downgraded straight to Windows 10.2. For iPhone.
This became problematic upon trying to continue using my iPhone. Instead of a sleek, streamline device on which I furiously swiped my way through discarded blog drafts, notes I’d accidentally deleted, notes I needed to delete, settings to make it harder to delete content that wasn’t meant to be deleted, and copious pages of the internet to try and figure out how to recover content that I’d accidentally deleted, I was left with a slow, unresponsive, cluttered slab of glass and aluminium with more jerk than a wing of mitha-fithing chicken on which I furiously swiped – in a fashion akin to running in jello – through copious pages of the internet, trying to figure out how to eliminate Windows for iPhone.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t still want an iPhone, I just don’t want a phone that’s being morphed into a utopian experience for 16 year old girls instead of being professionally refined into the only thing those need to own who do more than send text messages hemorrhaging with screen effects involving love hearts, broken hearts, lipsticked lips, sketches that look like they’re being drawn with a sparkler, or a phone that takes as long as a device burdened with Windows to respond to anything I do on it. Which is (used to be) everything. Because it’s (what used to work like) an iPhone.


On the 23rd of December 2016, I was at the local store paying for a packet of 5 doughnuts, something I can’t remember, and bottle of shower gel. As the transaction was going through, the cashier asked if I wanted a free gingerbread man. I hadn’t gone into the store thinking I wanted a gingerbread man, but upon being offered a gingerbread man, I found that, yes, I did want a free gingerbread man.

After accepting the gingerbread man, the cashier, who must have either been as friendly as she looked, or in full swing of donning the festive spirit, also offered me a free DVD. Due to the packaging, I couldn’t tell what the DVD was, but upon being offered the free DVD, I found that, yes, I did want a free DVD.
I had come to be at the cashier due to the self-service checkout not registering the doughnuts as the product I was placing in the bagging area when I placed them in the bagging area. The reason for this was due to about three minutes earlier when I had picked up the bag of doughnuts from the shelf they resided on. The bag looked distorted and I almost put it back to select the one behind it, but, instead, I checked the contents of the bag I had in my hand through the small window of clear film that had been conveniently placed there to make sure the vanilla custard innards hadn’t been spread throughout the inner walls of the packaging from some sort of overly enthusiastic festive suplex manoeuvre performed by a staff member out the back of the store during a ‘Tis the Season Christmas party. It hadn’t. The reason for the distortion, as became evident from my vantage point at the viewing window, was that a sixth doughnut had been strategically rammed into a bag designed for one less doughnut than the six it was under threat of hemorrhaging with – this causing the self-service checkout to go all WindOwS 10.2…

Merry Christmas, I thought. 


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