Okay, there are days when I suspect my sense of humor never made it past age seven. And there are days when that’s a glorious thing! (Toilet paper and poke through rates—things you always hoped you’d never need to know…)
It was a Saturday morning, 2012 and my phone rang impatiently. When I picked it up, an unfamiliar voice asked,
“Is that Amanda?”
“That is me,” I answered.
” It’s Susie. I’ ve got your crap here.”
“Sorry,” I said, about to hang up, thinking that this was a prank call.
But then I was a little curious, so I tentatively asked, “What kind of crap have you got?”
[Believe it or not, this is the second time in my life, I have had to ask a stranger this exact question. This time I was not in Denmark, but that’s another story.]
The Caller continued.
“Well, I dunno. There’s a box here, with your name on it and it says that it’s umm, filled with crap.” It had your phone number too, so I rang you, ‘cos, you know, I don’t want it!” Susie exclaimed.
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