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.
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.
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.