Hickory Daily Record

Lifestyles & Polish

Scott Hollifield: She got the message, again and again and...

Up until our 13-year-old daughter went to the beach with extended family and left my wife and me behind to fret about shark attacks, sunburn and teenage boys, I had, over the course of my life, sent no more than a dozen text messages.
I spend a huge chunk of my existence at a keyboard trying to put events in some sort of semi-meaningful perspective and find little reason to poke away with uncoordinated thumbs at the tiny pad on my prehistoric (three-year-old) cell phone. I fear I will text my wife about picking up "milk," accidentally type "milf" and end up on the losing end of a divorce settlement. She gets the guitars, the TVs and Granddad's pistol and I get a set of napkin rings, an alimony payment and the chair in the basement that smells like bad cheese.

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