Hi folks. It's Little Mary Sunshine, come to break her long silence.
I could tell you cute stories of my children, I could rant about adults who refuse to act like adults, I could tell you about the burning bun and the sleeping babysitter, I could tell you heartwarming stories of Christmas and my overwhelmingly adorable neice, I could whine about working ten hour days, I could praise the lovely Lorna to the skies for being a safe place for my children, as well as doing tons of laundry and cooking suppers, while I worked those ten hour days - the list goes on and on. I could do all this, but I'm not going to. I'm going to tell you about
The Annoying Telephone Solicitor
I am lying in bed, nursing the cavernous hole in my face left by the dentist this morning. I am cozily miserable in my painkiller induced haze. The phone rings. "Hello!" chirps someone who is probably a very nice person in her real life. In fact, I think it's only perpetually sanguine people who take phone sales jobs, because who else would think "Oh, that'll be fine! I'll be so friendly I'll be FUN to talk to!" Where was I?
"Hello!" she chirps. "Is this Mrs. (mispronounced surname)?"
For one second I'm tempted to say no, because there's certainly no-one by that name at this house, but I know what she means.
"Sure", I slur.
"blahblahblahblahblahblahblah and may I send you an invitation to our open house?" she carols.
"Sure", I slur, holding the side of my face in a vain attempt to keep the gigantic hole in my mouth from swallowing my tongue.
"Shall I tell you a bit more about us first?" she invites confidingly. (yes bjH I KNOW that's an adverb. Don't you HATE those? passionately?)
I realize that holding my lower jaw in place with both my hands and grunting answers isn't going to Make This Go Away. I summon all the energy I have, from the outlying areas where it has gone to ground.
"Actually, no." I say. "I had a tooth pulled this morning, that took the dentist an hour and a half to get out. It came out in five separate pieces and involved a lot of drilling. I now have at least three stitches in my mouth and I'm doped up on painkillers. If you want to send me stuff, send away, but can I please hang up now?"
There is a pause.
"Well if I don't tell you these things, I'll get fired." She laughs.
I grit what's left of my teeth. Sharp shooting pains result. "Oh, don't get fired." I say, with a regrettable lack of sincerity.
She asks a few questions, I whisper a few answers.
"Wow" she says, blinking her eyelashes (I could TELL) "It sounds like I just woke you up or something."
"No, I just had a tooth pulled." I resist the urge to shout "WHY SHOULD I LISTEN TO YOU IF YOU WON'T LISTEN TO ME???" because blood pouring down my chin from ruptured stitches is less effective over the phone.
Then she gives this half-hearted little snicker like "oh grow up, getting a tooth pulled is no biggie" and instead of losing it, I just hang up.
And instead of being annoyed all day, I planned this blog entry.
I feel much better now. Except the heartburn. When you can only have "cool fluids", maybe they shouldn't be exclusively Coke?