Sorry, Wrong Number

"Is that you? Call me back right away."

Just received a call on my iPhone: “Is this Joan or Rachel? Do I have enough money in that account to get my hair done? Let me know. Thanks.” Click.

"Selma, SELMA, we're only going to take off a few inches. Keep your head up, dear."

The thing is, neither Hot Pants nor I are named Joan or Rachel. Not to mention this old lady was calling from Connecticut. And I live in San Francisco.

Of course, few rituals rank higher in importance than one’s hair appointment. I do sympathize.

As does the gonzo chic Ms. Phyllis Diller!

Sooner or later our mother Jeanne will be leaving some unsuspecting strangers ditsy messages like these. Just the other day she told me she had a lot of phone numbers written down. Without any names next to them.

If you hear from her, let us know.


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