Don’t call me, I’ll call you (no I won’t)
I hate the phone. There, I said it.
I hate landlines, I hate cell phones, I hate the sound of a ringtone. I hate to hear you eating in the background and typing on your keyboard. I hate to hear the wind blowing while you walk and talk. I hate to hear crackle crackle static and they you cracking up at some joke you made that I didn’t catch.
I hate when people talk on the phone while they drive, shop, eat, poop, and and work out.
In this day and age, I am never away from communication. Send me a Text, an email, an IM. Twitter me, FB me, Favstar me, Tumblr me. I’ll answer you. I love you. I’ll laugh with you and cry with you and give you my full undivided attention (as much as my ADD allows). But if you want to speak to me, Don’t fucking call me.
There are a limited exceptions to this rule: 1) You are my mother. 2) You are never at your computer and the only way we get to speak is by you calling me in between carpools 3) You crapped your pants and thought it would be hilarious to tell me right at the moment (and yes, it would be) and 4) I’m at work.
Other than that, don’t expect to reach my by phone. If I don’t pick up my phone it’s because I have no idea where it is. I am busy. The battery died. I’m naked.
The phone rings and I cringe. The voicemail blinks and I cry. Really, truly, I hate the phone. And it’s probably a good thing - that you all do too.
