I think all of our inboxes should designate a special folder for those emails that contain the words: "Sent via my BlackBerry Handheld." Because as soon as you see that biting little phrase on the bottom of anything, you know you are in for a cryptically short email filled with misspellings and no capitals, and 9 times out of 10, authored by a man.

The BlackBerry is a male tool of torture. Sure, I've seen women use these horrendous machines, but not with the same Pavlovian drool running down its 2 inch screen. It's like the remote control. We women use it, but we don't covet it to the point of requiring a 12-step program to manage it.

My husband is a big BlackBerry user. So are all of his friends. You can tell because the whorls of their thumbprints have worn away. I've seen them text one another at the same table. I've marveled while they check scores on the couch while they're watching the same game on television. No venue is safe from its use--church, school, Interstates…as long as there's a signal, there's texting going on. He wields it like a phantom limb--at night I can see his finger spasms while he's dreaming of sentences in all lower case letters, with no attachments.

Remember that old commercial for Reese's Peanut Butter Cups? "Your chocolate got into my peanut butter!" Well, that's how I regard the BlackBerry. "Your email got into my cell phone!" But instead of a creamy chocolaty treat, all you get is this sticky mess that half the population is allergic to. It's just not natural.

The BlackBerry has basically eliminated speech decoration. It has reduced the priority of communication to speed rather content. This is fine for items and subjects that require instant decisions, but leaves everything else a little to be desired. Which is probably why women hate it and men adore it--it doesn't talk about its feelings and it never wants to cuddle.

I am convinced that even if my obituary does not list the BlackBerry as my official cause of death even after the countless times I've screamed the words, "No emailing while driving!" then at least it will send me over the edge to complete and utter insanity. Let me share with you the exact transcript between my email and my husband's BlackBerry last August, as you tie the straightjacket strings. (I have added proper punctuation for clarification purposes because Lord knows there wasn't any that day.)

Stuck in a Republican National Committee meeting. Need anything picked up from the store?

Well, maybe just a pregnancy test.

Really?

Yeah, I think. Never mind, I have one here.

Take it now!

Are you sure? Don’t you want me to wait until you get home? Or at least until you have actual cell service?

No--now.

Okay. Give me two minutes.

(Summoning nature.)

Honey, you may want to join the Republican party while you're there--you're going to need another tax break for your new little dependent. Congratulations.

Wow. Maybe I'll stay a Democrat for the government cheese.

And there you have it--a creamy chocolaty treat of moment reduced to an allergic reaction to human Chorionic Gonadotropin hormone.

Pregnancy test results Sent Via my BlackBerry Handheld. It's the stuff of memories.

©2007 Tracey Henry

Send me Divamail via your Blackberry. Divamail@Suburbandiva.com.