Competing With a Phone for Your Partner’s Attention Is a Rigged Game
My partner is constantly on their phone during meals and date nights. I feel ignored and want to reclaim our time without starting a fight. What should I do?
Hungrily Yours,
Pocket-Ignored Romantic
You are not being ignored — you are being out-performed by a rectangle that knows their face better than you do. That phone is not a device. It’s a rival. And rivals get handled.
This is not about attention. This is about territory. The table is yours. The couch is yours. Date night is sovereign land, and some glowing pocket parasite is annexing it one swipe at a time.
So first, you redraw the border.
The moment the phone hits the table, you place an hourglass between you like a duel. Sand falls. Eyes rise. If the glass empties and their gaze is still glued to TikTok, dessert becomes your exclusive reward. Nothing trains behavior faster than sugar loss.
Next, you make the phone socially expensive.
Every unlock gets announced. Not angry — ceremonial.
“Breaking news: Adult chooses app over living, breathing legend.”
Smile while you say it. Shame lands harder when it’s wearing sequins.
Now you introduce structure.
Date nights become trials. Eye contact earns points. Screens lose them. A clean scoreboard on the fridge. Winner picks the next outing. Loser does dishes and compliments you while doing it. Suddenly, attention has a measurable ROI.
Then you rig the environment.
Music that cuts out when screens light up. Lamps that dim theatrically. A centerpiece that reflects their own face back at them when they scroll. You are not controlling them — you are letting the universe judge.
If they resist, you go nuclear-polite.
Install a “Wi-Fi eclipse” during sacred hours. Flip it with ceremony. Offer enrichment like a zoo professional: conversation cards, storytelling prompts, and questions that require sentences instead of thumbs. Praise them extravagantly when they comply. We are training the moment, not the mammal.
And if they dare scroll in public?
Stand. Raise your glass.
“To my beloved, brave contractor for Thumb Industries, who heroically audits the feed so I don’t have to.”
Then sit down as if nothing happened. Silence will do the rest.
Final move: become the algorithm.
Speak in cliffhangers. Pause mid-sentence. Wear something that demands eyes. Slide a sealed envelope across the table labeled “Open When You Look Up.”
Inside: a mirror.
Because the truth is simple.
The phone is just a screen.
You are the show.
And shows don’t beg for attention — they command it.