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There’s always that part in the movie when things change.

You know when the obedient, yet distant, robot who has longed to experience the wonder of human emotions decides to just murder everyone instead.

Now I am not saying my iPhone is at the plot-my-death-and-make-it-look-like-an-accident mark. But if I were to use it to search, “10 Signs Your Relationship Is Turning Creepy,” that phone would be able to tick off a few boxes.

I got into my car the other day. Like a boyfriend found sleeping in the back seat, the phone woke up and stared at me with its glowing face.

“19 minutes to work,” it said.

My new car has Bluetooth, which means my phone and my car talk to each other.

I worry about what they say about me when I am not around.

“Parked Car notification: 1 hour 2 minutes.”

How does my phone know where I am going? And why is it timing how long I park somewhere?

None of this technological witchcraft comes as a surprise to hubby who has long said “Big Brother” is not only watching but most likely living in our basement.

“Look, look at this Facebook ad on my phone,” he’ll say. “Remember yesterday when I was talking about chicken coop blueprints? Now there’s an ad for chicken coop blueprints in my news feed.”

I had to admit, things were getting weird. And, I don’t just mean my husband’s search history.

“HEY SAM!”

I was caterwauling through the house like I had something more important to say than to tell my son to pick up his wet towel off the floor. My boy’s name — Sam — is just a few letters away from the diabolical robot locked inside my phone. As a result, Siri is often trying to butt in to family matters.

“HEY SAM!” I call out again to my son.

“I am sorry,” said a calm, robotic voice from the kitchen counter. “I don’t understand, ‘for the last time pick up this wet towel or I will shove it in your bed’.”

I didn’t believe Siri. That phone understood perfectly well what it was doing.

“HEY SAM!” I yelled again.

The phone wouldn’t have it.

“How can I help you?” said the cool countertop voice, this time in a tone that said, “your family has all left you. It is just us. Forever.”

Stupid phone. Bet it and the car are having a good laugh about this one.

Martha Petteys writes a weekly column for The Post-Star. She can be contacted at petteyshome@gmail.com or visit or on Facebook.

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