Yesterday after William returned home from work the phone rang. I took a quick look at the caller ID and recognized the last name as a neighbor (-ish, about 1 km away). We live in a very small town… so keep that in mind… the names and numbers have been changed just because…
Me: No, sorry this is 4650.
Caller: Oh, sorry I dialed the wrong number.
Me: No problem, have a good day.
Caller: Thank you, you too.
WM: Is that your code? Was that your lover?
ME: No, it was some old lady looking for Barbara.
WM: Oh sure
ME: No, actually it was old Mrs. McLean, and I bet she was trying to call her next door neighbor Barbara.
WM: C’mon, how could you know that?
ME: Because I know old Mrs. McLean, and she lives right next door to Barbara, y’know Katie’s mom?
WM: (looking at me like I’m insane) Oh now you’re psychic.
ME: No, but our phone number is one off from theirs… we’re 4650 and they’re 4640.
WM: Oh you know everything.
ME: Once, at our old house a guy with an English accent called and asked for Steve, and I told him he had the wrong number. I told him ours and he said he wrote the number down wrong and he sounded disappointed. I asked him who he was looking for and he told me Steve McLearen. I was like, ‘I know Steve, I went to University with Steve and he’s my nephew’s teacher.’ Then I looked up the number for him and he was grateful.
WM: You’re a nut bar.
The end. The thing is, we live in a really small town…