So what’s the upshot of all the brouhaha over my soon-to-be twelve-year-old daughter’s cell phone dilemma?

She ends up with her own cell phone. How this makes sense, I’m not really sure. But she strolls into my studio tonight and says “I bought this prepaid cell phone at Target tonight. Is that okay, dad?” I was more than a bit stunned. “You bought a what?” I asked. “A prepaid cell phone,” she replied. “Oh goody, a prepaid cell phone. How about each month I take a bunch of twenty dollar bills out to the driveway, I douse them in gasoline, and we light them on fire and dance around like drunken idiots, just for kicks?”

It’s preposterous. A twelve-year-old does not need a cell phone.

Not even a prepaid cell phone. But you know what? It’s not worth getting bent out of shape about. If she wants a prepaid cell phone, that’s fine. I won’t pay a stinking dime for it. If she wants to waste her money on it, that’s absolutely fine. Speaking of dimes, that’s what it costs per outgoing text message. A dime. Incoming messages are free, but outgoing messages are a dime.

Heaven is a place where there is plenty of cold beer at a reasonable price and there are no #&%@! cell phones.

Amen.

Update 4/12 - More on the Prepaid Cell Phone