Nothing irks me more than having my hands in the dishwater, and having to go answer the house phone. Okay. There are many things that irk me more. I'm highly irkable. Let's just say my irk level starts at high, and only increases from there.
Anyhoo...there I was this morning, suds on my fingers, being my own dishwasher, when the house phone rang. It has caller ID. I was half expecting it to say, "Call from Farmer H." But it didn't. It announced, "Call from...wireless caller."
You know me. I figure it's probably a scammer, but I can't take that chance. Something might have happened to one of my college boys, and they had to borrow a phone to call me to solve their problem from several hundred miles away.
I rushed to the living room, wiping my sudsiness on my jammie pants.
"I am calling from the main office about your Windows computer--"
"I DON'T TALK TO SCAMMERS! I DON'T KNOW WHAT KIND OF FOOL YOU TAKE ME FOR, BUT I'M NOT GIVING YOU MY INFORMATION. STOP CALLING HERE OR--"
Can you believe that guy with a foreign accent hung up on me?
I guess call centers have gone wireless now, or else this little guy was freelancing, thus his initial heads-up that he was actually calling from THE MAIN OFFICE.
I wish I'd screamed into the phone again, like that time I embarrassed The Pony.
My skills grow rusty without my couch audience to impress.