So, it would make sense then that when I need a phone charger, one of my children would hand me theirs.
The problem started when our eldest went off to college in August. She took at least three chargers that I know of, one for her phone, one for her iPad and an extra one for her car. Probably a little overkill, but at the time, so were the multiple bottles of pepper spray I stashed in her book bag, in her car and under her bed.
Little did I know the balance of power would shift right at that point.
And now there are not enough chargers to go around.
You really see the worst in human nature when resources are scarce. They say mankind will do almost anything to survive, be it for food, water or shelter.
Whoever they are, might want to study the human reaction when anyone in the Kane household reaches 4 percent on any electronic device, because Neanderthals would have nothing on us.
My husband now keeps “his” charger in his car. He claims he knows which of the white power cords are “his” by the little black mark smudged along the cord. I literally have to find my keys, go into the garage, unlock his car, find his cord, start the car and charge my phone to read my emails.
Our 16-year-old, likewise, has “her” charger.
“I bought this one with my own money,” she says emphatically when I try to remove it from her room.
Mind you, my 16-year-old has never held a job, isn’t on government aid and hasn’t come into any inheritance of which I’m aware.
That leaves my 13-year-old son. My baby. My joy. My heart.
That little sneaky one never charges his phone in the same place twice.
Now a sane person would just go buy a new charger, right?
Well I did, multiple, multiple times.
But the ones you buy in the checkout aisles never seem to work. You need the coveted white ones that are only sold at Verizon, and who has time for that?
So instead, I steal, pillage and plunder each and every night, trying to find one stinking charger that works to keep my phone charged.
I literally can feel my blood pressure rising as I try to text or read my favorite blog while the phone quickly goes from 4 percent...to 3 percent...to 2 percent...can you feel yours rising too?
And then...it goes dark.
At that point, my friends, only the fittest survive.
Comments? You can email Angel Kane at firstname.lastname@example.org. Becky Andrews and Kane are the brains behind Telling Tales, a weekly column in The Democrat.