But Then Again, the Universe, She is Kind Sometimes....So I'm all gloom and doom after my last post, just depressed as hell, and then the phone rings. I ignore it, continue weeping into my huge bowl of chocolate almond ice cream. sigh, oh, sigh....weeeeeep...eat...sigh...snort (What a big old sad pig sounds like.) Phone keeps ringing, and it's making my curly little tail twitch, so I hoof it on downstairs to answer it, but before I can, Mr. Butler takes it upon his tiny phlumpy self to do the honors.
"Hi, what's your name?" he shrieks in his sweet girly voice.
I decide that it's time to rescue whomever may be on the line.
"Give me the phone, Brandon." I say, adding, "It may be the police cops." That's the only way he will relinquish the phone without a tantrum, you see. We wouldn't want to incur the wrath of the police cops, no way, uh uh.
"Hello?" I say, figuring that the unfortunate caller lost patience and hung up.
"Is Larry Young available?"
"No, may I take a message?"
"When will he be available, ma'am?"
Ah, a telemarketer. They never leave contact information, only the residue of their annoying gnat-like auras. I'm usually quite cordial to telemarketers as I realize they have bills to pay just like the rest of us, but sometimes...Well, sometimes I fucking want to rip their hearts from their thoraxes.
"I don't know. Sorry. He, like, works."
"Is this Mrs. Young?" (Said in hopeful, annoying, gnat-like tone.)
"One moment, please."
I cover the mouthpiece and whisper to Brandon, "It's not the police cops -- it's Dora the Explorer!" then hand him the phone.
I go back upstairs and continue eating my ice cream, and instead of weeping into the bowl, I grunt with glee till the very last spoonful.