This morning I was sleeping, and I was sleeping, sleeping, sleeping…such GOOD sleeping. I woke up about 10:30 a.m. and stumbled in to make a cup of coffee. My Samsung Gear 2 (aka my Life Alert, so say my smart@ss co-workers) started blinking alerting me that I had a phone call.
I had left my lifeline, my Samsung Note 4, in the bedroom, but I needed to answer because it was a client–my bread/butter of writing client. I hit the little button and spoke into my watch. “Hello?” He said, “ARE YOU OKAY?”
“Yes…I’m fine, why? I slept in.”
He: “I’ve called you six times and I have already called Rob and I was about to call the police and drive to College Station. In all these years you have never NOT answered your phone.”
Still speaking with slurry sleepy words into my Gear 2 and fumbling with the coffee, I said the only sentence I could say, “So, did Rob answer?” (Wow, I thought…what kind of smart @ss question was that?)
My caller must have thought so, too. He didn’t answer me. He grumpily said that now that he was sure I wasn’t dead, he was going to have coffee with a friend.
I stumbled back to bed with my coffee cup and noted that indeed I had turned the ringer off on my phone. UGH!
First of all, I’m so blessed to have this man as a friend. I’m blessed that he values me not only as a contractor but that he cares about me. I feel horrible that I scared him like that.
I’m blessed that he didn’t have my mother’s number because that would have been the icing on the cake.
I’m blessed because I was wearing my Samsung Gear 2 and didn’t cause my friend anymore worry which would have resulted in a 911 call.
I’m REALLY blessed that he didn’t race to my door or didn’t call the police so they would see me open the door in response to loud pounding (which no doubt would bring out the neighbors so that they could all see me) standing there squinting into the sunlight with hair standing on end wearing nothing but a brown wife beater and a pair of leopard print granny panties with two frantic backups, old Foxy, a fuzzy pom mix, and a little black dog named Harry that doesn’t know how to bark, just scream like a banshee.
Well, as they say, all’s well that ends well. A good Saturday has come and gone and my unfortunate readers will need bleach to get that visual out of their eyes.