By Jasmine Simpson
When the iPhones first started off, I hadn’t felt like I should care much. Then I went through high school and realized how wrong I was. Still behind the times, I switched over to the slowly declining Blackberry. It was a great little thing and lasted me a while. For one year, to be precise. I had quickly tired myself of having to replace that infernal rollerball. Really, it was such a pain in the neck!
Eager to join the rest of the world in the smart phone mania, I ditched the Blackberry and finally switched to HTC. My very own Droid DNA. That was indeed a beautiful phone. I cherished it for almost a year and then the cruelest, most despicable thing happened. One week before graduation, in the girl’s locker room, my phone was stolen from my bag. For many months, I searched, begging it to return to me. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be.
In a false-hearted attempt to ease my sadness, I switched over to Samsung with the S3. I was partially comforted, after a while, I grew to accept it as my own. The S3 quickly became my right hand and life was good. Until, I accidentally dropped it. First flight of stairs: BANG! Second flight of stairs: BANG! With every bit of dread and apprehension, I picked my phone up to discover the screen completely shattered. Once again, I was heartbroken.
All was good again when I discovered I still had an upgrade waiting for me. I contemplated long and hard, eventually deciding the S5 was meant for me. Here I am now, almost two months later, as content as I can be. For the present, at least, I have found my loyal comrade.