(OK, before you begin reading this post, you must read the above title out loud, pronouncing it with a Sylvester Stallone/Judge Dredd accent. Done? Read on.)
Ah, the joys of telephone numbers. I was just quietly feeding J-man (as quiet as twin two-year-olds can be when fighting over a Nemo toy) when the phone rang. The caller ID listed the number as USA Nails. Hmmmm, why is a nail place calling me? Did Ty-man schedule a surprise manicure for me? Awwwww, how sweet.
Yeah, whateva.
Think really thick, practically unintelligible Chinese accent.
"Ah, yes, this USA Nail on highway 9-2. I am looking back of store, where man is. Water coming out everywhere."
W.T.F.?
Oh, yeah, right. We are so very lucky to have a phone number that is one digit off from the local police department's number. Joy.
"I'm sorry. I think you need the police department. This is a private residence."
As I'm hanging up, I hear, "Oh. OK. Water is..."
Click.
No manicure for me, but the poor confused Chinese lady probably has a flooded manicure table.
Who Am I?
- Coal Miner's Granddaughter
- I am the 40-ish granddaughter of Frank (see header), a fiddle-playing coal miner from West Virginia. I was born and raised in said state and have lived in Georgia since 1994. I have a wonderful husband, three beautiful kids, one cranky cat, and one anxiety-ridden dog.
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Confessions of a Coal Miner's Granddaughter by Coal Miner's Granddaughter is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License.
Photographing
2 comments:
I think that would be better in Cartman's voice. "I am the law. Respect my authoritaaaayy!"
My parents live near 92, but my mom gets her nails done somewhere else. Otherwise I would have her investigate for you! LOL
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