I was in the grocery store, I've determined. My cell reception is pretty much nonexistent there, and the timing is about right. I noticed the voice mail light blinking a few hours later. When I listened, I had to grimace and shake my head, cursing my all too vivid imagination, and feeling gratitude for the extra hours I went without knowing about the call at all. Ignorance truly is bliss.

My aunts were to spend the night out of town on a shopping trip. I decided not to tag along last minute, so the hairs on the back of my neck began to stand on end when Brenda's cell number displayed across my caller ID. Brenda doesn't call people. I had lectured Debbie earlier this week for her poor voice mail etiquette. You don't leave a message for someone saying, "Laura, call me as soon as you get this, either my cell or Brenda's, whichever you remember. Just call." It sounded serious and I called back to find that she really had nothing all that drastic to talk about and told her that she needs to leave an indication of why she's calling in her voice mails from here on out. I doubt she will listen. I still get the occasional email in all-caps...a practice termed, as per Amy's college research, poor netiquette. Oh well...neither here nor there, onto Brenda's call...

I was certain that my venting hadn't gone unnoticed by Brenda, and that she would leave a detailed message. I heard her voice crackle above a background of clinking glasses and laughter, "Debbie and I forgot our pajamas, would you mind driving some to us?" Earlier in the day, I had requested a ride home from work, my car being pampered at the shop. Then, just after they hit the road for their trip, I was notified that my car was available for pickup, and I dialed Brenda's cell to coquettishly ask if they were still close enough to turn around and help out their favorite live-in niece EVER. I saw their black Equinox round the curve of our cul-de-sac and I smiled dazzlingly and batted my eyelashes as I walked toward the door. I earned a "You're too cute!" from Brenda, and thanked them wildly for the ride. I think this requested favor was Brenda's idea of fair play's turnabout, but I shrugged it off and listened on. Bad move.

"We're at a bar. Pretty soon I'm going to start collecting wet napkins and stick them all over my body." This created a very lewd, very disturbing image in my mind. I swung my cell phone from my ear as if it burned and looked at the back-lit display in disbelief. I felt my nose scrunch in offended-sensibilities, and my face flush in embarrassment—as if Nick, who was in attendance when I received the message, could see my naked, napkin-decoupaged aunts just as keenly as I was imagining them. I did not return the call...couldn't. It was a call I was only too glad to miss.