My two year old has a board book series about the four seasons. All of the titles start with “When the Snow Comes” or “When the Rain Falls,” or “When the Sun Shines.”
I happened to be on “When the Wind Blows” when the phone rang.
When the phone rings; I spit shoot tea through my teeth.
When the phone rings; the baby cries and I feel angry.
When the phone rings, I stare at the ringer and wonder why I have forgotten yet again to turn it off.
When the phone rings, I consider how much a new window would cost if I dramatically heaved the unit through the glass.
When the phone rings and the baby is awake she yanks the cord and repeats in a shouting voice, “Chloe’s turn to talk to Gramma!” regardless of what telemarketer, Doctor’s office or friend might be on the other end. I’ll never know because she’s disconnected the line (or they will) well before I can clearly articulate my name and that I am not in any imminent danger contrary to the smashing sounds and squealing they might be hearing in the background.
When the phone rings people say, “Man your house sounds like a daycare.”
When the phone rings, someone trying to sell me something should consider another line of work.
When the phone rings after 10pm, I assume it’s to notify me of someone’s death.
When the phone rings, I let it.
When the phone rings, I look at the caller ID and then I secretly stay mad at you for the next 15 minutes or longer depending what important activity or nap you have interrupted.
When the phone rings, I use the When The Wind Blows book to muffle the ringer to keep the baby from waking up. Then I make a book entitled, “When Shoppers Drug Mart calls” and I post the date, time and staff member’s name before googling their home address.
When the phone rings a second time because you know I’m home and just not answering, I make a voodoo doll in your likeness and if I’ve already made yours, I start on the rest of your family.
When the phone rings my grey hair springs straight out and then coils on top of the blond highlights. When the phone rings enough, the grey hair forms a nest on the top of my head for birds to lay their eggs.
When the phone rings, a smart part of me dies inside.
Do not disturb.
