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.