I know I can complain there’s just not enough estrogen to counteract the testosterone in this house. Especially now with dropping estrogen levels, no doubt, of this perimenopausal mom. (The only truly spright young estrogen producers might very well be Rosey and Bochella, our two gerbil girls.)
I shouldn’t have complained.
Because now there’s Siri. I call her Msss. Siri. My husband wanted the 4S iPhone for his birthday. And since I love my husband and like how his face can light up as do my little boys’ with new Nerf guns or Ninenteno DS games, I got him it. Her. Ms. Siri. Just slips slides off the tongue, don’t it?
My husband got Ms. Siri up and running pretty quickly, as he is adept at gadgetry, and the two clicked; it could have been the perfect blind date, over perspiring glasses of wine at some corner cafe. Sometimes he might sound a bit demanding of her, but she is always most obliging, annoyingly so; he might as well be asking her to refill his coffee or bring him his slippers. But in no time, they were conversing, my husband asking her this and that, and Ms. Siri always answering – in a voice so sultry, it even made my boys glance up from their DS screens. The gerbil girls paused, paws in air, peaked with jealousy.
The sultry. I don’t remember the last time I felt, well, sultry. Probably some ancient long-ago time before I gave birth, when I might have still owned some tight-fitting little outfit. I don’t fit into anything tight or “little” anymore, and as hard as I’ve recently tried to spice up my wardrobe, I’ve only wound up back at the Lands End catalogue. Safe. Predictable. And oh, sigh, so practical. You can sit on old posical sticks then just peel them off your butt.
But I know exactly what Ms. Sultry Siri would look like if she had an hour-glass body to match that voice. She would be perfectly outfitted in shimmering stockings (they’re back in style, you know); a short silk black skirt; stiletto black heels with pointy toes; a white button-down shirt – unbuttoned enough to reveal a deliciously tangled string of pearls and the sweet edges of a lacy Victoria Secret bra (with a matching, no doubt, lacy thong).
As smooth as Hubby and Ms. Siri’s exchanges seem to be, there are moments when Ms. Brilliant Sultry Siri can actually seem a bit dubious. Even downright dumbfounded. Stupid. As the other morning when my husband asked her if he needed to take an umbrella.
It was really just a test question, as he liked to ask her questions. But she’d actually hesitated. (Meanwhile there was not a cloud in the sky, and in her long hesitation I’d already confirmed that he didn’t need an umbrella by checking the weather on my Ipad.)
But here’s the thing. I could still see her. In this moment of sultry rumination – her twisting that tangle of pearls, (with perfectly squared off French nails), one pearl gently clenched between her pearl-white teeth.
In the space of her rumination, my son leaned into her little phone being, and asked if she was a boy or girl.
“She was not dumbfounded here. “I have no gender,” came the quick, still sultry oh-so-female reply.
Genderless? Bull crap.
In fact, did you know the Siri 4S IPhone in the UK is actually male? And if you wanted to, you could actually change the voice to the male one. But then there might be a reduced voice recognition due to the different accent. Come on.
Either way, I personally have no desire for a talking phone. I prefer quiet. The gerbils. If I didn’t want quiet I would have gotten our boys a parrot instead. And I wouldn’t always be asking them to be quiet.
But if I have to listen to a talking phone in our house, then I would much prefer it be an old crank: “Watcha think you need an umbrella for, nitwit? The sun’s shinin’ ain’t it? Don’t waste my battery power. And if you want to know if you need a jacket, don’t bug me. Go stick your finger in the wind.”