The Luv Doc: #seavibes

Dear Luv Doc,

This year me and my girlfriend of three years decided to take a spur-of-the-moment four-day weekend in Port A. We called my friend to take care of the dogs and headed out Friday afternoon. On the drive, our phones kept blowing up with texts and calls from co-workers, friends, spammers, etc., so we made a pact that when we got to the beach we would hide our phones in the back seat and not look at them until the drive back. When we got to the condo, we loaded in our stuff, then put our phones under a towel in the back seat and went for a walk on the beach. It was dark when we came back so we made a late dinner, drank some wine, and listened to some vinyl. The next morning I wanted to read my book but I remembered that I left my glasses in the car, so I went out to get them. On the way out the door I promised I wouldn’t look at my phone. When I opened the car door, I heard my phone ding in the back seat. I was curious, so I looked and there was a message from my manager. It was a work question, so I felt like I had to respond. As I was texting my boss back, my girlfriend’s notifications screen lit up with a message from some guy named Logan. The first part of the text said, “Missed you at the …”  I wasn’t able to look at the rest of the text. I don’t know her password and the notifications screen went away before I was sure of what I read, but it put me in a bad mood for the rest of the trip. My girlfriend kept asking me what was wrong. I didn’t tell her because I promised I wouldn’t look at my phone. When we got in the car for the drive home I immediately picked up my phone, but she said she wasn’t going to look at hers until we got back. She didn’t and now the curiosity is killing me. Do I ask her about this Logan guy and admit that I cheated on our phone pact? Or should I just let it go? I’m not even sure what I read was real anyway. 

– Suspicious Suspect

First of all, let me just say that your attempt at a no-screens-on-vacation policy is admirable – especially at the beach. I get it, the rhythmic sound of the pounding surf can be immensely relaxing, but I got to have my beach jams, yo, and since … I’m pretty sure it was about 2015 when I made my bold, daring move out of the Apple ecosystem (a move which made me a digital pariah amongst my almost exclusively iPhone-using friends and family) … my jams have been exclusively on my phone. Don’t ask me why I switched. We know why I switched. I switched because Apple kept trying to force me to play my MP3s on their featureless straitjacket of an audio player, iTunes. No, not this century, Tim Cook. You may think you can coast by on your “leathery version of Anderson Cooper” looks or by sucking up to the bloated orange antichrist with gaudy gold gifts, but I see the real you – the desiccated parasite bleeding people dry with twee minimalist hardware design hamstrung by even more minimalist, featureless software. Wow. That seemed pretty harsh even if it was 100% accurate. Oh, chin up old chap. At least you’re not Elon Musk.

So yeah, I imagine the prospect of the beach without a sick Marley and Cliff-heavy playlist had to be daunting. Luckily there was vinyl in your condo. That’s thoughtful. And trusting. I hope you gave them at least three stars – unless the vinyl was all scratched from previous beachgoers … or it was all really obscure metal bands from the Seventies like Teaze, Savage Grace, and Strapps. Nothing against any of the preceding artists, but if you want to be a superhost, you gotta read the room. Maybe toss in some Harry Belafonte, Rupert Holmes, or at the very least The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. #seavibes

I’ll admit you’re over a barrel with this phone situation. I don’t know how you’re getting any sleep at all – probably not near as much as Logan, whoever he is. That said, the thing that’s really eating away at you isn’t the possible loss of the high ground for having texted your boss, it’s the fear of abandonment you’re feeling knowing that your girlfriend might have a side piece named Logan. My advice is to own that fear, admit your transgression, and tell your girlfriend your concern about Logan. Maybe he’s a minister … or a parole officer. Or, maybe he’s the hard truth you would prefer to avoid. Making this more complicated will only make it harder.

This article appears in May 15 • 2026.