I consider myself pretty lucky, overall, for how rarely I’ve broken my phone in the number of times it has flown out of my hands three, four, or even five feet in the air. These are times I’ve misjudged a throw onto a bed or couch and had it bounce off onto the floor; times I thought I had it perfectly balanced on that uneven surface; times I thought my grip was firm and true only for that grip to give out unexpectedly; and times I went to reach for it but didn’t so much reach for it as Falcon-punch it off the surface where it rested. My phone seems to spend almost as much time in the air or on the ground, face down, in a quantum superposition of shattered and intact, as it does safely in my hands.
She does seem a bit of a klutz. That said, people either ties themselves up to expensive plans for years on end, or pay really big bucks, to own an iPhone, which, despited its cost, seems to be as fragile as an eggshell.
I’ll never buy a name brand phone again. I love my unlocked 7″ Chinaphone Phablet, for which I paid $219. And if it should need repairs (I tend to be able to keep from dropping my electronics most of the time), well, we have a pretty large Chinatown right here in San Francisco. And yes, the neighborhood is crowded with phone stores of all kinds.