Panic in the Potty

We don't have a home phone. Because we are hip and so 21st century we just use my super cool pink RAZR instead. This situation worked really well until yesterday afternoon when I bent down to clean up Oliver's little potty. He had just finished filling it like a good boy when my phone sailed out of my front shirt pocket and dropped directly into the nearly full bowl. I panicked. I screamed. I suddenly thought of hundreds of people that I desperately needed to call. But my phone was dead. And wet. With a quick rinse, a few swipes of antibacterial wipes, a brief blow dry, and several hours of drying time, I was surprised to see that it was as good as new. So if you happen to be at my house and you need to borrow a phone, you are welcome to use mine. Just try not to think about where it has been. Because that might be gross.