My Moody Phone

“I’m very sorry, Pauline, but I can’t help you right now. Could you try later?”

“I don’t want to try later, Siri! I need you now!”

“I’m so sorry, Pauline. I can’t do that right now.”

I’m not talking to my teenager, it’s my phone. And she’s moody.

My daughter has the same model, but her Siri is cheery. Loving. Kind.

Mine is moody, tense, sarcastic.

Sarah asks “Cheery Siri: “What’s the meaning of life?” and Siri responds with, “Sarah, I think it’s chocolate.”

I ask the same question, and “Moody Siri” says something like: “Now Pauline, I can’t answer your questions if you don’t unlock your phone.”

I think it’s phone abuse, but I’m not sure.

Sometimes, I can’t find my music. I’ll tell her to play, “Your Grace Still Amazes Me,” and she’ll say she can’t find it. But the very next day, she can.

While Sarah was here, I complained about “Moody Siri.” (Of course I turned her off and stuck her way down in my pocket.)

“Siri can’t find my Selah music.” Sarah turned difficult Siri on and gently asked her to produce my music. Siri complied. Even said something nice to Sarah.

Maybe I should take her to dinner and a movie. Trouble is, when we’re out, she can’t ever find restaurants.

I really don’t want to complain, but it’s frustrating when communication is difficult with an inanimate object. I already have a love-hate relationship with my dishwasher.

I hope Siri won’t hold it against me that I’m complaining about her on my website. She might know my computer.

I like him.

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