You know how people call your phone number, ask for someone you’ve never heard of, and then hang up without a word when you tell them that they have the wrong number?
Yeah, I hate that too.
Today the most polite guy called my number erroneously today. But it made me happy because this is what he said:
“Is this Dicky the Mailman’s house?”
Without a pause, followed by:
“I think I have the wrong number. I’m sorry, ma’am.”
So not only was he super cordial, but he gave me lots to think about as to who is Dicky the Mailman, and why would he be referred to as such, instead of just Dicky.
In other news, I spent nearly the entire day completing the herculean task of cleaning and organizing my kids’ rooms. You can read about it in waaaay too much detail at The Junk Pyramid. (And thank you all for being so fascinated with my junk, by the way.)
Also, if you’re coming to my house for a playdate this week, just know that not only will you be required to oooh and aaah at the cleanliness of those rooms, but you will be required to only gaze at the toys instead of playing with them.
Oh, I’m kidding. My basement is still a disaster of toys you can touch. I may even send you home with some of them.