Do you like the Apple Watch?

“Is that an Apple Watch?”

Yes, it is.

“Do you like it?”

In addition to compliments about how cute I look in my cowboy boots today, my Apple Watch is the most commented on accessory I currently own.

Do I like it?

My initial response is that I feel the technology is a little lost on me.  This has nothing to do with the fact that our son can rewire the space station with it and I have trouble locating the time of day.

Do I like it?

What I really think?

I have decided that Apple Watch is a female; a PMS-ing female.  You can talk to her and she won’t talk back, she’s hypersensitive to how you touch her, and way too often you find yourself talking to the hand instead of her face.  There is only one solution, I need to eat more chocolate and drink more wine until it oozes from my pores and through her sensors.

And then I need to thank her.  Because last Saturday, for the first time in my life, I locked my keys in my car, which left me staring blankly at my driver seat where my iPhone and keys lay taunting me.  Palm to forehead.  But then it occurred to me that the Apple Watch has a phone calling capability and as the NASA wannabe son was with me, we used the Watch to call Mr. PQ for help.  (Unlike Black Widow critics, I am perfectly comfortable being a damsel in distress)  Mr. PQ is not terribly accustomed to distress calls from me, and likely fell over when he noted the call was coming from the Watch.  This is the only explanation I have for why he suggested I call a locksmith.  There is a fighting chance I’d still be standing in the parking lot if it was up to me to summon help via that device.  I suggested Mr. PQ might want to make that phone call for me if he didn’t want to spend the next several nights sleeping on the couch, and that snipe has nothing to do with the Costco-size bottle of Midol currently sitting

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