Ode To My Ipod.

Dear kind, sweet, trusty pink vintage Ipod Mini, circa 2005,

*Sigh*  I've got to tell you, I've been dreading this day. 

Your time is past. I know you keep trying to look younger (mainly through three battery changes; how many times do I have to tell you that if you keep it up you'll end up frozen and unable to express emotion?), but it isn't working.  I think I'm in love with someone else. She's really energetic, and it seems like you're always tired these days and have trouble keeping awake - even after a full night's rest and recharge.  Her mind can keep track of so many things at once - like around 4,000 things, to be exact.  You seem to top out around 900, and frankly I need someone around who's a little more intellectually spry.  Call me high maintenance, but I need to have all my info at my fingertips at a moment's notice.

I do love you.  I hate to do this to you.  But I'm replacing you with that younger, hipper, sleeker model.  It's not you - you've been great.  We've been through a lot together.  Trips through France and Spain and Italy.  Prague, Budapest, Krakow, Vienna.  Ethiopia, Burundi, Rwanda, Uganda. London and Munich (Oktoberfest...now THAT was a great time) and Venice. Slovenia and Croatia and Slovakia.  Innumerable plane flights and train trips and car rides.  You kept me company while Ron was gone and we cried together to the gentle sounds of Richard Marx.  And you have been my most trusty workout partner.

But the thing is, the next generation is so skinny and shiny and well-groomed.  Ever since the Death Valley Summer of 2005, you've kind of let yourself go.  And - well, I hate to bring it up because I know it's a bit of a sensitive spot with you - but the thing is, my new screen is in color.  I mean, a color screen - can you imagine that?  And, I know I'm not supposed to think this way, but the screen is nearly twice the size of yours.  Anyway, I'm sorry: I never meant to hurt you.  Tell the earbuds that I love them.  I will always think of you fondly, and the way we sway to that special Meatloaf song that only you and I really understand.  You really got me, and I appreciate that.  But size does matter.

Love,

Me.

Um, I don't mean to be rude, but your battery is low. Again.

Hello, lover.

Sorry.