Cheating

After seven loyal years full of open communication, loving give and take, and plenty of coddling, I feel like a cheater. But it’s not my fault. I don’t have AT&T.

Yes, I got a BlackBerry.

Those of you who know me personally probably know my love of all things Apple. My MacBook Pro often sleeps beside me in bed. My iPod touch is my favorite toy. I still keep my old iBook close at hand. I have Apple stock — I bought it before the iPod came out.

Obviously I wanted an iPhone. They’re beautiful, they’re precious, they’re really fucking expensive. And as much as I love Apple, I love being sensible with my money more. That’s why I don’t have all the accessories I dream about, including the lovely harman/kardon SoundSticks I’ve always wanted.

Not only do I feel like I’m cheating, I feel like I’m cheating with a total slut. emailA slut who still makes you take her out for expensive dinner, even though you know she’s going to give you some sort of postcoital virus that involves multiple trips to the doctor and even more creams.

But it had to be done.

Essentially, my job has roped me into it. I am the mouthpiece of the magazine, the communicator, the “people” people refer to when they say they’ll have their “people” take care of something. That something being the notoriously flaky, always time-sensitive media folk.

I caved, I got a BlackBerry. Do I love it? No. Does it feel good to way an iPhone feels good? Of course not. But I’m already addicted.

Sorry, Apple, now I’ve got to take what I can get elsewhere. You’re an expensive lover, but rest assure I’ll be back in a year or two when I can really afford to take you out and treat you nice.

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