Please God, keep it short! (the conversation, that is)
When I was in high school, I’d talk on the phone at night with my best friend Liz for hours. Literally, hours. We’d see each other all day in school and then we’d call each other after dinner to dissect the day’s events. And these were the days of toll calls (she lived in Westchester and I was in New Jersey) and there was no call waiting. My father would say to me, “What do you two have to talk about when you just spent 8 hours together?” Liz’s father took a different approach. One evening, as we cheerily tripped into our second hour of conversation, he simply came into Liz’s bedroom and ripped the phone out of the wall.
It was effective.
At the time, we thought he was a madman. But I have come to understand and respect…
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