Confessions Part 3; Muggles and iPhones

iPhones are the closest things we muggles will ever get to a wand.

I want an iPhone. I’m not ashamed anymore, I refuse to hide it like the majority of the population. Sure, my friends have told me what a douchebag I’d be if I got one, how they’d refuse to sit next to me in restaurants and on the subway because I would compulsively Slide To Unlock and flick and swish and tap like a queen. I’ve even been dragged to an apple store so I could see first hand the douchey-jagoffs touching their iPads while they lean on the too-low counters and beckon to the employees to bring them more iPods. How I hate them. Yet, how I long to be amoung them.

It’s impossible not to want one. I know I need one, the commercials basically told me so. I cannot NOT have an iPhone. How wonderful it would be to turn off my lights, check into a hotel, or (last item of sentence omitted because I can never remember past the most recent iPhone commercial) from the comfort of wherever I am—be it not my house, not an airport, or (…yeah, I just cant remember past the fact that I can watch Finding Nemo on a tiny little box that turns off my lights.). The saddest part is, I have this terrifying little voice in my head that has suggested that the iPhone commercials might one day stop—perhaps right after I purchase my iPhone—and then I’ll be left with no promise of a better life, no taunting glimps of what heaven (or some lazy person’s paradise) could be. I want an iPhone, but that voice, that taunting, screaming voice reminds me how consumed with fear and confusion in a vastly unfuturistic future I just may wake up in one day.


I told myself: I deserve an iPhone because I’m planning on never buying a wedding dress.

That is the level of deception and acknowledged self disrespect I’m operating on to buy this product.

…I already have a list of apps I’m going to put on my boyfriend.


I mean iPhone.


Help me.