This may be a confession that puts me in the category of people who drive you crazy, but I don’t always answer my phone. There. I admitted it. Sometimes I let it go right on ringing until the message system kicks in, and sometimes I just push the little button so the damn thing shuts up. Yes. I’m a non-answerer.
It drives my kids crazy — not me failing to answer their calls, I always answer if it’s one of them. No, they’re utterly mystified that I am not completely consumed with curiosity about who and what and why my phone is ringing. They just look at me. Incredulous.
‘Say what?’ their expressions scream at me. ‘ Seriously, Mum? Really? Do you actually think you have enough BFFs to risk pissing one off by not jumping to their call?”
Hmwmph… They’re right. I don’t have a great many friends, but if the ones I do have really truly desperately want to tell me something important, they’ll leave a message. Or call back. Or send a text. Or an email.
But it’s not always because I cannot stop whatever it is I’m doing and chat to whoever it may be. Occasionally, I just don’t feel like talking.
I don’t always feel like pretending I’m happy to hear from someone. It may be that I’d really rather be left alone. And trust me. Trying to have a conversation with a cranky me is not going to brighten anyone’s day. It’s kind of a safety issue, really.
Text me. Email me. I’ll never ignore you then. Even if Abby Lee Miller is giving Cathy wet-willies with a perfectly varnished acrylic talon. Written words will always get my attention. Almost immediately. But voice calls just don’t have the same propinquity.
Not for me anyway.