Staying on the sunny side of things can be exhausting. This girl looks pretty happy though. Maybe I should just paint the place yellow. “Not just yellow; a very gay yellow. Something bright and sunshine-y. I tell you, Mr. PeDelford, if you’ll send one of your men to the grocer for a pound of their best butter, and match that exactly, you can’t go wrong!”
This morning I got what has to be the best accidental gift ever- I got a voicemail from a wrong number. Better yet, it was a four minute voicemail from someone who dialed my phone accidentally and then went about her business.
Let’s consider the odds of this for a second. First of all, her butt or her date book or something had to hit the keys of her Blackberry in such a way that it hit all of the digits of my cell phone number exactly. I had never seen this number before, not ever, so it isn’t someone I know. This was a gift from God. A “It’s cool you don’t go to church anymore. I get it. I like gay people too.” kind of gift.
The second thing is that the phone wasn’t buried at the bottom of her bag, affording me with a pretty clear listen of all their goings-on. The third fortunate thing is that I saw the phone rang but I didn’t answer it, as I was eating breakfast and no one, but no one, is interrupting my eating the last croissant. (This is a habit of mine and my friends hate it- not answering the phone right away. I don’t think this is such a bad thing, that I’m not a slave to my phone. I, for one, don’t understand the people who answer their phone when they’re asleep. Like they’re taking a nap or something and you call and they get all annoyed. Why did you answer the phone? Clearly, you wanted to remain asleep. Why is this my fault?) Anyway, their scintillating water-cooler conversation wasn’t interrupted by my tinny voice crying out, “Hello? HELLO?” to no one, forcing the person to dig out her phone, realize she called someone by mistake and hang up.
Thank God that didn’t occur because then I wouldn’t have had the joy of listening to three coworkers, clearly in a meeting, discussing how cool Wikipedia is, for four whole minutes. It doesn’t sound that entertaining but oh, it was. Anything you accidentally overhear is entertaining. (Except for that time I was at BWI and stuck on the security line behind a woman and her young daughter. The woman was on the phone with her ex-husband, demanding he put the money back into her account and then she made the young daughter get on the phone and beg him to put it back. That still haunts my dreams. I don’t even like recounting it now, honestly. And now this post is a big bummer. Sorry, Cones. Dammit.)
Ok, one last story to put us back on track (meaning- put a smile on Cones’ face). When I was thirteen, my family and I were driving to Boston or to New York, I don’t remember which but we stopped in Mystic, Connecticut to get some lunch at Friendly’s. (For the uninitiated, Friendly’s is like family-friendly diner/ice cream parlor chain.) We’re ordering ice cream and it comes to my turn. I look at the waiter, confidentally, and order a, “Reeses Penis Sundae.” I then realize what I said and start choking, I’m thirteen and I want to die. My mother looks horrified, my brother’s jaw hits the table and my father, who is not paying attention at ALL, says, “Don’t get the big one, get the child size.”
If that doesn’t make you smile, I don’t know what will.