How Did You Get My Number?
I need to call my dad. It seems that he has been giving out my phone number again. All you have to do is say, "I went to high school with Mist," and before you know it, you have my phone number.
I think Dad should guard my phone number like an email password. There should be a secret question. What was my first pet's name? Last four digits of my Social Security Number? Mother's maiden name? Boxers or briefs? Something. He can't just keep giving it out.
Lloyd called me last night. I feel comfortable using his real name because he doesn't know how to read, so the risk of him finding this blog and being able to comprehend it, is one I'm willing to take.
I didn't recognize the phone number, but it had the magic area code. I always answer calls from that area code.
I knew it was Lloyd instantly. "Irregardless of everything that happened, I still think about you." No one else that I know uses the word "irregardless."
"Lloyd," I said, "it's regardless."
"That too," he replied.
We talked for a bit. Lloyd remembers things a little differently than I do. Lloyd remembers how I stuck my tongue down his throat. It's my signature move.
I remember our first date. In the car, he told me about his seven year old son and daughter. "Oooh, twins" I cooed. "Naw. Two weeks apart." We went to a trendy bar. I ordered a dirty martini. He ordered a Miller Genuine Draft. He commented that he had never acquired a taste for dirty martinis. I replied that I had never acquired a taste for MGD.
"It's not my first choice," he said.
"What's your preference?"
I wish I could say that I never saw him again. I believe in second chances.