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Editorial Late one night, as I was watching TV with my husband, he turned to me and said, "Oh, by the way, you went over on your minutes this month." Over on my minutes, I thought. What is he talking about? Was he keeping count on the time I spent in the bathroom we shared? Or, had he tapped into some pseudo universe and taken a tally of my final days on earth? I guess he saw the puzzled look on my face because he quickly added: "Your cell phone minutes; you went over on your cell phone minutes." My cell phone minutes, I thought. I used more than I had. "You're kidding," I responded in disbelief. "Now why would I be kidding about something like that," he said. By then, I was thinking of those television commercials where the teenaged son drives the car through the garage door and all the father can say is, "You went over on your cell phone minutes. Or the one where the daughter calls her father to report she got an A+ in physics and all he can say is "You went over on your cell phone minutes." I guess going over on your minutes is a parent's worst nightmare in today's world. It may not rank with "By the way mom, what do you think of becoming a grandma," or "Mom and dad, guess what? I'm moving back home," but it's got to be up here if the commercials do really tap into America's pulse. Suddenly, I realized I was part of a large, hip group of up and comers, relying upon the most up-to-date form of communication and using it to the max. This, from a woman who never wanted a cell phone in the first place and didn't know her number nor give it out to anyone for more than a year. My husband (who is now complaining, by the way), thrust it into my hands for “emergencies.” I went over my cell phone minutes. Wow. My posture began to get a little straighter and there was a sense of pride in such an accomplishment. I had arrived. Next, text messaging.
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