Dying Phone Battery

My phone battery is dying. I just got an alert from the iPhone battery health department.  “Your battery’s health is significantly degraded.”

You’re in good company, Cell Phone Battery. I’m 52 years old, and parts of me are significantly degraded, too.

The question is, What do I do with my phone now? I could get the battery replaced. I have an iPhone 6s. Wow, I just googled it, and the 6s came out in 2015 when Carrie Underwood sang “Smoke Break” at concerts attended by T-Rexes.

Another consideration: If I buy a new iPhone, will it fit in the protective case I’m using on my current phone?

The case is called an Otter Box. I don’t understand the name because otters don’t protect anything. They play in rivers and eat fish and generally have a good time. A piece of hard plastic meant to protect a $700 piece of equipment should be named after an animal with a hard shell. Like an armadillo.

Armadillo means “little armored one” in Spanish. They have a hard plated shell-like skin, and they move pretty fast. I know because I saw one in Disney World, of all places. I was at a resort called Fort Wilderness located in a wooded area. Yes, there are wooded areas not far from the Magic Kingdom. I was walking to my cabin one night after dark. The cabins were more like free-standing suites built to look like cabins. As I approached my door, an armadillo ran across my path. It looked at me and said, “Why are there so many humans in my habitat these days? On the other hand, the WiFi you installed is nice. Down in my hole, most nights I can get Netflix.”

Back to my iPhone with a dying battery. It’s funny that we call these things phones because we don’t often use them as telephones. Instead we text and check email and Facebook and the weather and waste time on eharmony.com/ArmadilloSingles even if you’re a happily married Armadillo.

Hold on. Siri’s talking to me from my iPhone.

“Your phone says, you’re right. She is not just a phone. She is a Handheld Portable Computer . . . Wait. She’s changed her mind. She’d like to be called Brilliant Piece of Technology. . . . wait, she’s texting me . . . She is the Queen of Portable Computers and the Great-Great Granddaughter of a Princess Phone. She expects you to bow down to her. And get her a new battery.”



Tell my phone she’s arrogant and she’s no better than the programmer who designed her software.

“Okay. . . Hold on. She says: ‘Wendy, you’re an idiot, and I could make your life miserable by sending obscene texts to people you want to impress.’”

Siri, tell my phone she’d better be nice to me, or I’ll replace her with a new 5G iPhone.




Did my phone respond?

“No. I think she’s sulking. But I’d be nice to her because she’s irritated. She could do some damage between now and the time you trade her.”

Good point. Tell her I’m glad to address her as Her Royal Highness Armadillo Disney Princess. . . . What does she say to that, Siri?

“She just deleted all your contacts.”

Oh, dear.

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