touch me?

I think about an iPod Touch. Probably more than I should. I have a piece of computer paper taped to the side of my bookshelf and divided into 5 sections that are labeled with names: Ma, Pa, Sis, Boyfriend, Gram. It's a Christmas List brainstorm and it reminds me daily of the iPod Touch; the present I want for myself. My little Nano, which had its face scratched on Day 2 of possession, no longer holds a charge for as long as I'd like it to. I would have been happy with a replacement Nano. Maybe even in black this time. But. Then me sees the Touch ads. Me hears the music is my boyfriend hook. Me gets wowed by the wow factor. Me feels like a silly little girl with a pen in her hand writing to the North Pole or waiting to sit on Santa's lap, requesting the newest and shiniest toy. But it's not for the fad of it. Music, baby. Music (and email and google and power on the fingertips and prestige in the pocket). My dad is shipping a stocking hat to me that has speakers built in to the ear flaps. He got it for free at his beauty supply store. If I'm gonna go, I'm gonna go all out.

I'm doing my best to avoid BestBuy. I want to touch it. It calls to me. I know it will be obsolete the second I buy it (or unwrap it???). I look at my little, grey, antiquated Nano wheel; I run the track with my fingertip and think about how I used to consider its fragility: don't press too hard, don't place it upsidedown in your pocket, don't squeeze it when removing it from the sleeve. It's lasted me for years and now it's time to handle the next incarnation too carefully.