You know how some people say, “Hey, call me,” or “Call me later,” or “I’ll call you”?
No one says this to me anymore. THANK GOODNESS.
Because they know I won’t call them. I hate talking on the phone. And they know I won’t answer my phone. I hate talking on the phone and often lose my phone, accidentally, but conveniently.
When my phone rings, I just feel so interrupted. Actually, worse than that. I feel intruded upon, invaded, violated. It’s like the other day when I was sitting on the couch by myself in my underwear and our guests staying in the apartment downstairs knocked on our door and yelled, “Got any breakfast? I’ve got a hungry one down here.” Of course I screamed–and not just because I was in my underwear.
Ughhhhh, and this whole expectation of: “Hey, you never called me back!!!!” What the heck? This is my response: “Hey, you called me while I was watching House TWICE–get over it. I did.”
I have 200 minutes a month for $10 a month. Great deal: fewer minutes to have to talk on the phone at such a low price. I often ask myself, is this real? It really is too good to be true.
So I’ve become quite the phone hermit. This is me:
“Oh sorry, I missed your call because I keep it on silent always.”
“Oh sorry, missed your call because I lost my phone last month.”
“Oh sorry, missed your call because I found my phone but it’s still charging on my nightstand because I don’t even carry it anymore.”
“Oh sorry, missed your call because I saw that you called but then remembered that I hate talking on the phone. But you can stop by. Just make sure you call, I mean, make sure you text before you stop by.”
Hey, if you don’t want to take the time to drive all the way out to my house on the outskirts of Provo, or write out everything you want to say to me so I can read it when I feel like it, don’t expect me to pick up my phone. What you ask is too much.