But first I'd like to ask those people who park themselves outside Apple stores: Will you to line up this way when it comes time to vote next month?

I realize I probably sound self-righteous, but I find this must-have mentality both absurd and borderline icky. And I just don't understand the obsession, especially with something I'd probably break or drown. Now, a great pair of boots -- that I get. But not this. At least not yet.

I accept that there will inevitably come a time when I'll have to make the leap. At some point, my kind of phone won't be available. Plus, I should probably try to find out what everyone's gushing about.

People say I will love my smartphone once I have one. They also say I will never be the same. And maybe that's what turns me off most.

I don't want to receive pictures of anyone's dinner while I'm out having mine. I don't want to check out of an actual conversation because a random friend used an app to check in for an eyebrow wax. I don't want to read work e-mails on a beach vacation when I should be reading a novel -- the kind made of paper, if that sounds familiar.

And I don't want to pull an Alec Baldwin and be tossed off a flight for playing word games I am sure I'd be unable to quit.

I know myself too well. When I am in front of my computer, I check e-mail and Facebook far more than I should. It's sort of like how I don't keep cookies, cheese or ice cream in my house; if these things are around, I can't stop myself. If I had a smartphone, I'm afraid I'd be toast.

Would I be one of those people who turned to cat videos before I turned to the person beside me? Would I like shared pictures of nature more often than I head out and enjoy it? Would I allow myself undistracted moments to simply think about life?

If I ever become the person in a meeting or at a party who spends the whole time looking down at some iThing or snapping photos of myself, I'm telling you now to slap me.

About a year ago, I was hit with the reality that I was inching toward change. Not of the smart variety, mind you, but I found out I was flirting with semi-intelligence.

I was having dinner in New York. At the table sat a devout gadget head. He heard me reference my stupidphone and told me to hand it over. I did and then lost myself in shared stories, warm pita, hummus and wine. He missed out, doing whatever it is gadget heads do.

After a while, he put my phone down. He looked at me with a sympathetic smile. And then, he said something that would make my people proud: "Honey, I hate to break this to you, but it's not your phone that's stupid."

It turns out my phone, the one I've had for years, can do -- well -- stuff. What exactly? I have no idea. But for now, I'm sure the smartest thing I can do is keep it that way.