This is a cautionary tale. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket, particularly if the eggs are digitally dependent and the basket comes with a multi-language instruction manual (also, don’t do it if you have high cholesterol and your cardiologist has told you to cut down on egg baskets, but that’s a cautionary tale only for those who know how to spell angioplasty).

My cautionary tale begins, as most of them generally do, with my making a promise I wouldn’t keep.

And so it was, a number of years ago, I swore that I would never get a smartphone because I didn’t want a phone smarter than I was. Three years later, when I got my smartphone, I thought I would prove that I was even smarter still.

I challenged Siri to a game of Boggle, and would have won, except for that nine-letter word she got with the challenge cube. I got lost far quicker on my own than I ever could with Google Maps. I checked the weather app and didn’t take an umbrella anyway.

Nevertheless, I grew to love my smartphone. I grew to entrust most of my worldly possessions to it, including my 1957 Bob Turley autographed baseball. I grew to totally depend on this amazing little contraption in my pocket that didn’t like to be called a contraption.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, I checked the calendar app on my smartphone, the only place I kept my appointments, to see what appointments I had before and after naptime that day.

I had no appointments. Not that day, not any day. According to my phone, I had never had any appointments and would never have any appointments.

I knew, instinctively, this was wrong. I had a vague memory of a scheduled dental cleaning back in March 2014. I would probably be due again in 2018.

My smartphone had become stupid. I had to get it fixed. I had to know if I had scheduled any extra naps.

I shut the phone off, I turned it on, I did the hokey-pokey and I turned myself around. But my calendar was still completely blank.

I re-booted. I went to the shoe store, showed them my phone, and put on several new pairs of boots. But my calendar was still completely blank.

With no other alternatives, I went directly to the Apple Store, which specializes in making you feel even older and dumber than you are. I went, in fact, to the Genius Bar, where the specialists’ specialists work in long monks’ robes and speak only in ancient Greek.

I explained my problem; they worked on my iPhone for nearly an hour. They updated it and downloaded it and may have microwaved it on the frozen pizza setting.

They couldn’t find my calendar, they didn’t know where my appointments had gone.

When I asked if anything else could be done, they told me to make an appointment.