By Heather O.
The other day, I had to get new gloves for J (yes, it’s finally cold here–no snow, though), because I discovered his old ones had holes in them. “How did your gloves get so many holes?” I asked him.
He shrugged and said, “I dunno. Maybe Maggie chewed on them.” Not an entirely unlikely scenario, I thought.
“Why did you put the dog out?” I asked DH, as he returned to bed in the middle of the night after banishing Maggie to the garage, even though we agreed it might be too cold for her in there.
“Because 2am is too late for anybody or anything to be licking my toes.”
Phone rings. It’s Blockbuster video.
“Yes, you returned your DVD, but there was no DVD in the case.”
Sorry, we’ll take care of it.
Phone rings the next day. It’s Blockbuster. Again.
“Yes, the Regional Public Library just called. Apparantly you returned our video to their location. Kindly go pick it up and return it to us.”
Sorry, we’ll take care of it. And never show our faces in your store again.
Phone rings. Please, in the name of all that is holy, let it not be Blockbuster again.
I pick it up, and there is the silence that assures me I am about to talk to telemarketer.
“May I speak to, uh, a Mr. J, please?”
“J? You want to talk to J?”
“Yeah, J is four. He won’t be buying anything any time soon,” and I hung up on her. Maybe I was too hasty, though. Maybe it was a college fund contest, or something.
I am now on the No-Call list.
J has new Batman gloves.
And DH now sleeps with socks on his feet.
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