Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Answer the Phone!

I'm so bad with my cellphone. Darling Husband teases me about it all the time. I keep it in my purse so that it's (in theory anyway) always with me, but the truth is that even on the loudest volume setting, I don't always hear it ring (am I hard of hearing? Do the voluminous contents of my bag muffle sound too much? I'm not really sure what the deal is). And don't even get me started on what happens at home, when I put my purse in the closet, shut the door, and then go about my business in the far corners of my apartment.

Since I work at home, I don't really use my phone much for business and so I don't compulsively check messages. In fact, I don't check messages at all, except when I've actually heard the phone ring, then hurriedly rummaged through my bag to find the phone, but haven't been quick enough to pick up the call. It is at times like this, that I finally notice that there are messages waiting to be answered. Most of them are from my Darling Husband (and almost always start out "Sweetheart, don't you ever answer your @!%& phone??!!") and are from days ago. But occasionally, someone else leaves me a message. And invariably I feel badly, because owning a cellphone (and giving out the number) does lead to the impression that you answer it. (But of course I almost always don't, as described above.)

Over the weekend, we attended a key school event -- the Spring Auction. As is my habit, I transferred my phone (and a few other essentials) into an evening bag and headed out the door (being sure to warn the babysitter to call Darling Husband's cellphone number first, should there, God forbid, be any kind of emergency). About halfway through the event, my phone rang and -- Mon Dieu, I heard it! Turns out it was my younger son, calling from the speed dial button labeled "mom" to find out if I would extend his bedtime. But I didn't know this at first. As you can imagine, having a cellphone ring in the middle of the auction meant that I was fumbling to open my purse and answer the phone while hastily moving out of my seat, trying not to step on too many toes or spill my wine one anyone (having graciously agreed to a seat in the middle of the aisle), and rushing to find a place that was quiet enough that I could actually have a conversation. Needless to say, my son's first attempt to reach me was not successful. Correctly guessing that the "1 missed call" was from home, I immediately called back, only to get a busy signal (the child had wisely moved on to the next speed dial button, which is labeled "dad", and he doesn't know anything about how to use our call waiting system -- actually I don't either, but that's another story). But lo and behold, I saw that I had messages!! Thankfully, they weren't more than a couple of days old. But it was embarrassing to have to explain what took me so long to return the call, anyway.

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