Loved this comic strip (of which I often relate!) and it reminded me of my call Saturday night.
I love it, because the opposite was true in my early years. I was in college, and more than once, I phoned my neighbor, Ann, because I remembered HER number, not mine! Her mother, Betty, and I had lovely short conversations as I was embarrassed that I couldn’t even call home properly. (Was there any hope for the future of the country then?)
I was supposed to call home on Sunday nights so that my parents knew I was alive, but I grew up during the era where you didn’t call unless it was an emergency. So, I had trouble with that request. Why would I call home as a kid? Who did that ever? Who called the home number?
Saturday night I chatted with my four “homies” from elementary school, the four of us girls who spent six years as the only estrogen in the grade. We picked up right where we left off. Zoom has been a lovely gift for us. I don’t remember their phone numbers now, but I know I called them more than I ever called my own home phone number.
The sad fact – I do not know my children’s current cell phone numbers! I’ll work on memorizing those now, a laudable mission.
Oh my. This made me laugh out loud. I have been sitting here trying to remember those numbers. Next Zoom, we’ve got to see who knows which numbers. I’m laughing again just thinking of that conversation. Oh the Good Life.