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photo of Spanish phone

I have had my phone number for decades. I must be one of the few people who actually likes his cell phone service – so much so that I haven’t had a land line since the Reagan Administration.

But it’s gotta go. I tried. I really tried to keep that number. There were phone calls (useless) and e-mails (useful) to support. Scores of service plans were examined, all to no avail. I will lose my old friend. It feels like amputation.

The good news is that I have an unlocked phone, and for less than thirty dollars I can buy a SIM card for it and ¡voilá! – it will become a Spanish phone with (and this is important) unlimited texting. In Spain, the preferred method of communication is text. Give them an e-mail address and they just look at you quizzically. Phone calls aren’t as effective as text because of the language barrier (there are two languages native to Girona, plus English). So I will get a Spanish telephone number and will answer calls with “¡hola!

There will be other sacrifices. Our car will have to go. Most of our wardrobes. Furniture. Netflix and Pandora. Labor Day and Thanksgiving. But that phone number? Man, I’m gonna miss that.

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