(Seriously... one of these days, when it isn't so fresh and painful, we need to discuss the Ninja Fart that Dan dropped on me last night. That thing hovered for at least 45 minutes and rather than dissipating, it grew stronger and more powerful over time. When I told him about it this morning, he couldn't wipe the smile off of his face, so proud was he of his prowess in foul and odious Ass Gas. One of the main differences between men and women are their reactions to being accused of emitting an award winning fart. Women: *looking horrified* "I did not...!!" Men: *grinning happily and looking pleased* "Really? It was that bad? Awesome!")
So what happened next was somewhat inevitable. And totally not my fault.
Like I said, my phone rang.
And I was still recovering from a night of horrific abuse from my sleeping husband. (I think I have a new episode of Snapped! recorded, come to think of it... I need to check my DVR. Wait... what was I talking about?)
I stared stupidly at the Caller ID, wondering who the hell I know in Brownsville, NY. (I think it said Brownsville... maybe it was Browningville. Or Browntown. I dunno. Brown something, NY.)
I know NO one in Brownsomething, NY. In fact, my knowledge of people in New York is something like 12. I know 12 people in New York. That should have been my SECOND clue.
Me: *as weak and defenseless as a kitten* "Hello?"
Caller: *speaking in a lilting and musical Indian accent and sounding almost brutally cheerful* "Yes, hello please? This is Danielle?"
Me: *as I said, my guard was down* "Yes, this is Danielle..."
Caller: *sounding so damn happy that it was me!* "Hello Danielle! I am so happy to talk to you again! This is Jason! You remember me, yes?"
(Okay, the Indian accent should have been my THIRD clue. I don't know anyone from India. I KNOW I don't know anyone from India. Why this fact didn't occur to me, I can't tell you. But there ya go.)
Me: *frantically searching my mental rolodex for Jason from India*
|Jason? Are you there? Behind Oprah?|
Me: *coming up blank*
Me: *frantically searching my mental rolodex for anyone named Jason and only coming up with the fat, obnoxious, bombastic douchenozzle that married a former friend's equally fat, equally obnoxious, equally bombastic narcissistic sociopathic daughter*
Me: *deciding it couldn't be him*
Me: *brilliantly* "Ummmm..."
Caller: "We had such a lovely talk just a few weeks ago!"
Me: *uneasily wondering if I have a secret life that even I don't know about that potentially involves a delightful mixture of Bailey's and Ambien*
|Oh God... Jason?|
Caller: "You do remember me?"
Me: "Uhhhh... no, I'm sorry..."
Caller: "Oh, I am so saddened to hear that!"
Me: *feeling guilty, for God only knows what reason... but dayum, y'all... he sounded so sad!"
Caller: "We had a lovely chat about your 2007 GM Envoy. The warranty on that vehicle is about to expire..."
Me: *coming to life* "Wait... are you freaking kidding me? Number 1, we sold that vehicle at least two years ago, and Number 2, JASON, if that's your real name, WHICH I DOUBT, I know for a freaking FACT that the LAST time we had our "lovely chat" I told you to put me on the Do Not Call List, like, immediately, if not sooner."
Jason: "Yes, of course! The 2007 GM Envoy is sold! And now you're driving what vehicle, again?"
I think one of the suckiest things about modern technology is that viciously pushing a button to disconnect a call doesn't offer the same satisfaction that slamming down a receiver used to have. Ya know? I really, really miss violently hanging up on people.
|And in my fantasies, this is how it all went down...|