peculiar momma

Dear Unknown Caller:

I know you are calling me. I see you on caller ID. I will never ever answer the phone. If you don’t have the balls to show yourself I have no need to talk to you. If it were truly important you’d leave a message. That ring invades my day like a rabid alarm clock bent on attack. My heart leaps into my throat. Nothing good comes from the phone.

I should just turn the damn thing off. Only my children also call, from school, and show up with an unknown ID. The schools around here have a liberal phone policy; my children ring to ask about play dates or whether we can have cookies after school. Does the administration not understand? My children do not have cell phones for this very reason (well that and I have no desire to pay out the ying yang for said conversations). These matters can be discussed over breakfast or on the way home. I do not need to contemplate baked goods while scrubbing the kitchen floor. And yes, I do my own floors. Strangely I haven’t been able to find anyone willing to work for free and be verbally abused by one child or another. It is so hard to find good help these days.

But I digress. Should my child break a bone, erupt in full body hives or surreptitiously vomit on your new shoes - by all means call me. I’m happy to step in and play the parent. But otherwise - shouldn’t they be studying? Shouldn’t you be teaching them something?

And, ye unknown caller, he who shan’t be named - I know who you are. I know what you want. You want my money. You seem to be mistaken. I have not won the lottery. Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to win, what, 180 million dollars? Yes, that’d be quite lovely. However, I don’t play the lottery so my actual chances of winning are quite slim. Nor did I just receive an inheritance or any other large sum of cash.

I must admit, the most perturbing of these “unknown” stalkers is my alumni association. Do I want to donate to the program? Well, gee, let’s just consider that $90,000.00 student loan a donation, kay? I’ll be paying that off until I’m sixty-two. After that give me a buzz, perhaps I’ll feel like donating a bit more.

Don’t get me wrong. I may be frugal, I may be debt laden but I am not a miser. I do give. I give my time and, yes, I give money. But I prefer to be charitable on my own terms.

So, in conclusion, dear caller, don’t call me. I’ll call you.

Sincerely,
Perturbed in the Pacific Northwest