Technology Fails

My phone is playing the "Toreador" ring. You know, that famous piece from "Carmen" lampooned in the Simpsons. "Toreador-o, don't spit on the floor, please use a cuspador, that's what it's for," sang Bart. That's one of the reasons I set that ring tone for any of Lisa's calls.

"Hello," I answer hurriedly.

"Jon?"

"Yeah, I'm just getting dressed. I'm leaving right now."

"Jon? Are you there?"

"Yeah. I'm heading out now."

"Jon? I think you picked up. I think you're there."

"I'm leaving right now!" I yell into the phone.

"I can't hear you at all. I'm going to assume you can hear me, so I'm just going to keep talking. The contractions are a lot closer. You need to get home now."

Great. Three-quarters naked, brand new cell phone. And it's not working in the one moment I need it the most.