Are you recovered from your post-Olympic blues? Me either. But, we must find a way to press on (laughing at others might help).
I came home from work the other day and had two messages on my answering machine. Both were for Steve. Um, I don’t know any Steves (at least not that live with me). I’m fairly sure no Steve has ever lived here (and, considering my grandparents built the house…and my grandfather’s name isn’t Steve…I think I can be fairly confident).
That’s not the best part, however.
My brother and I (whom I live with) have fielded calls for Steve before and each time, we’ve politely told the caller that they have the wrong number. But, it’s getting a little awkward.
I mean, does Steve purposely hand out fake numbers to one-night stands, ala Barney Stinson (a move Ryan Lochte might look to imitate)? Does Steve not know his own number? Are his friends too drunk or high to dial a phone properly? All these questions need answers.
But, perhaps, it is something even more sinister. Perhaps Steve is dodging creditors or his wife…or, perhaps Steve and Bill are related (thanks, by the way, Bill, for the free People magazines [decided not to renew, I see…sad]; I hope you paid your college tuition without the bills…maybe I should have returned those :-S… meh, oh well. I’m sure it worked out.)
So, if you call looking for Steve, I promise I’m not hiding him. It really is the wrong number. Maybe he’s just not that into you?