I added text messaging to my son’s cell phone bill earlier this year. He had started doing it, “texting” I think the kids call it, only 10 or 20 times each month, so the added amount on my bill, before we officially added it to the plan, was minimal.
We’ve coasted along all year with right around his allotted 200 text messages. Cool beans.
340. Three hundred. And forty.
And he’s a boy.
And he’s not a girl.
And he’s unemployed.
And he’s back in school (doesn’t he see these people every day?).
And he has a phone (obviously). And a voice. And a dialing finger (should be easier than the opposable texting thumbs).
And he’s been talked to about this before. In fact, just the other day, when I heard umpteen incoming buzzes in a row.
But he’s a good boy. And it seems trivial in the scheme of things.
Maybe I’ll make him dust or brush the dog or run get me something or Windex my car windows. Or all four. Two hours of work at $10 an hour, less the usual mama tax, should cover it.
But he’s a good boy.