Entry 45: Don’t Call Me; I’ll Call You

Although we’ve only been living here for a few months, if you were to ask me for my phone number right now, I could give it to you without a moment’s hesitation.

Unfortunately, that’s only because right now I’m sitting at my computer and I have the phone number scrawled on a dry erase board next to it. If you were to ask me for my number on the street, there would be a lot more than a moment’s hesitation; you might think I was trying to hide something. Unless, of course, I was carrying my dry erase board around with me.

You’d think, wouldn’t you, that three or four months would be sufficient time to memorize your own phone number. Especially since I could tell you the phone number we had in the Queens apartment I grew up in and that I haven’t had occasion to use for over three decades and actually started with letters (MI) instead of numbers.

And what is it with the friggin’ area codes in Stamford? I’m in 203, you’re in 203, so why the hell do I have to dial 203 to call you? Do I really need an area code to call someone I can see out my window? I didn’t have to dial 914 to call someone in Westchester when I lived in Westchester. Maybe Westchesterans are more secure in their identities than Stamfordians.

Anyway, if you want to call me, my number is 203-5…oh no! I erased my phone number!

See you soon.

Kitchen Update: We have cabinetry! We can’t open them because there are no handles yet, but they’re in. For all we know, maybe they come fully stocked. I’ll report on that once we have handles.

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