Elderly Relative is in a nursing home. Bought her one of those phones with pay-as-you-go minutes; she couldn't manipulate the tiny keypad. Bright idea: buy her a Jitterbug. Big numbers, lighted dial, voice activation.
Expensive? Well, a little, but she'd have a generous provision of minutes each month to make calls she needed to make, and we'd know she could reach us if she wanted anything. She was very, very happy.
Daily occurence (sometimes repeated several times): Our phone rings, we answer. Silence, then a tiny little voice: "George?"
"It's me. Peg."
(Shouting) "It's PEG!"
"Oh, hello, sweetheart. What are you doing at George's house?"
"I'm at home."
"Home! I'm at home."
"Yes, I'm on the phone. Who is this?"
That isn't the end of the conversation, but you get the idea.
At the end of one month, we hear from the nice people at Jitterbug. She's used four times the alloted number of minutes. "Who is she talking to all that time?" I ask my husband.
"Everyone she knows, apparently, except George."
Point of this story: Can an author possibly resist putting this one into a book? I can't speak for anyone else, but I'm pretty sure I can't.