The Talker

I'm expecting a very large Christmas gift this year from Rogers. (Rogers the company, no, not you random blog-reading guys named-Roger - although, feel free). We bundle all of our household media (cable, internet, home phone and Eric's cell phone) from these guys, so we always receive a nice hefty monthly bill from them...which I pay promptly because I want nothing, NOTHING to interfere with the enjoyment I get daily from my PVR. 

But it's not the cable side who love us. It's the wireless. And you know why? Because my husband used over 1600 cell phone minutes last month. 1600. I will spare you from digging out your own calculator and tell you that is over 26 solid hours of air time.

Now, you may think about this ridiculous number and say...well, Naive Wife, surely he must be chatting up some yappy minx who-is-not-you, because that's a LOT of usage. But no...here is what makes this truly alarming...it's volume, plain and simple. Rarely, if ever are calls more than 5 minutes. Our bill last month came in a large 8x10 envelope - meaning, it was too thick to FOLD. Pages and pages of incoming and outgoing calls. And it's not even a work phone, at least in the 9-to-5 sense. No, I looked at the bill with what can only be described as shock and awe, and even knowing who most of the calls are to and from (bandmates, band agents, personal training clients, friends and me) it is still a sight to behold. 

Now maybe it's just me. Maybe there are lots of people who regularly use this many minutes, and that fact that I even find this noteworthy enough to blog about says much more about me and my lameness than him. I mean, I had my own phone line in my bedroom in high school and I was on it all the time. I'm sure I talked more than 26 hours a month...but I was 16 and this was waaaaayyy before internet. (I pause here for a moment to imagine a chatroom scenario using our Commodore 64 - which surely would have entailed downloading a text message on cassette and then walking said cassette down the street to a friends house.)

Anyway, I have come to terms with the fact that my husband is neither a teenage girl nor, the other obvious option, a drug dealer (the first option is actually more likely than the second). No, its all legit. Crazy, but legit. 

Still, you're welcome, Rogers.  I am assuming that our thank you/Christmas gift is in the mail. I'm sure Eric would like a new iPhone, but I'm thinking maybe a new PVR? With three tuners and more recording hours? Thanks.