The Fretful Mother's Blog

It’s gotten to the point where I’m visibly startled when the phone rings. It’s basically the same reaction as if someone suddenly popped out of the chimney accompanied by a reindeer with a glowing nose (or the emergency reindeer, as my son would say). I’m totally shocked, and then filled with all sorts of wild theories, every time the contraption blares out that dreaded tone.
Who the heck wants to talk to me now? The solicitors are very likely suspects. But it could also be a number of other, even more terrifying, villains. I’ve been known to mess up bill payments (I’m often quite scared to open the bills in the first place), so they could be calling to notify me of how my electricity/water/car will be shut off and I’ll be forced to live in the middle ages until I figure out the number system. Or it could be the FBI saying that they’ve finally discovered my real identity, and it turns out I’m Jimmy Hoffa (that would really explain my obsessive paranoia and love of meatballs).
Or it could be the very worst: my therapist calling to inform me that there’s nothing more that can be done. “We’ve tried our best,” he say in a defeated voice. “But sometimes people are just crazy and need to be put in mental institutions. They’ll be there in five minutes to pick you up.” That’s not even enough time to put on clean clothes and brush my hair in an attempt to convince the orderlies that I’m really sane and have no use of their facilities. I better start preparing now, before the call comes in. Maybe I’ll even take a shower to make it extra convincing. You can never be too safe.

This entry was posted on December 25, 2009 at 12:38 pm and is filed under Fear of the Day. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.