Persephone unleashed - again

About three days before I set off for my annual retreat/flight/refuge in Victoria, BC, I "upgraded" my cell phone.  I'm not exactly a seasoned mobile phone user, but I've had my Android for three-and-a-half years, which, I gather, is the equivalent of fifteen years in washer-and-dryer years.  Our washer and dryer recently died within days of each other, like a devoted elderly married couple.

My old phone was waiting up to three minutes to send my texts -- a problem in an actual emergency.  It was also refusing to let me access the photos I'd taken with it. Elder daughter had a technical explanation for this; she informed me the phone was "evil".  This was odd, as she had helped me acquire it.

Nevertheless, I enlisted her help once more, and on a Sunday afternoon, we arrived at the outlet.  Elder daughter immediately started speaking for me, a bit to the bewilderment of the representative, who figured out that I was an English speaker in my right mind -- possibly due to my sly and dry asides.

Fortunately, she was a clever and courteous woman, who explained everything carefully.  In turn, we attempted to sell her on JazzFest and ChamberFest, but she lives in Barrhaven.  Bit of local humour there.

I departed with an iPhone on my person, which meant I had three days to re-learn my mobile phone skills - such as they are - under elder daughter's tutelage.

She nearly gave up on me the moment we arrived home.

As I updated my contacts list, I sent texts to the immediate members of my family.

To younger daughter, who was in the house but nowhere in sight, I texted:
"I've just got a new phone!"
The reply was immediate.  I could see the little typing icon.
Cool, who is this?
Nonplussed, I responded:  "It's Mum."
Can't be.  My mother's here.

Now, to be fair to me, I've had several surreal texting encounters with younger daughter, so I typed:
"Where are you?"
In the kitchen.

With dawning horror, I called to elder daughter in the living room:  "Uh, is your sister in the kitchen?"
"Why do you want to know?" she said wearily.  A number of unfortunate events over the years have severely damaged her faith in my ability to master social media.

I ended up apologizing to the remarkably patient person whose number I'd erroneously entered into my contacts.  No worries, said he or she laconically.  I kind of guessed.

Elder daughter's first and equally laconic text to my new phone:  Hiding. For obvious reasons.