Mike has a random story from the past

Sadly, we R still in reminiscing. This time, Mike has a story 4 U, which he posted l8 last nite:

April,

Formerly little sis. Just the other day, as I caught my son trying to eat the telephone, I was reminded of a story of my past when I was just a little older than he was and I had to deal with the telephone. I said, “Son, I remember when I was just a little older than you are and I had to deal with the telephone.” In preparation for my story, his eyes took on an absent look, waiting for a reminiscence of great meaning to fill his young, small brain. This is the story I told:

I was lying on the floor, playing with Legos, as I usually did with my right hand bearing a strong resemblance to the letter Q and wearing those special pants mom made for me where she mismeasured the inseam so the crotch was about at my knee. I loved those pants. They were great whenever I wanted to play a merman. I loved the mermen. They always had naked chests and they never wore sea shells like the mermaids did.

On this occasion, I heard the sound “RRINGG!” Naturally I knew this was the phone and not the front door. I picked it up and said, “Hello?” I remember this was especially difficult, because my right arm had chosen that particular time to mutate my wrist and arm to look a little like a fried chicken leg. Little Lizzie must have thought the same thing because she headed toward me with hunger in her eyes. Let me tell you there is nothing worse than having a fried chicken leg-shaped arm, being gnawed on by a nearly toothless, younger sister. I had to deflect her assault somehow. The person on the other end of the line said, “May I speak to Elly Patterson?” I said, “No, she’s outside right now.—Wanna talk to my baby sister?” Then I handed the phone to Lizzie and the attack was deflected. Mission accomplished.

Lizzie took the phone out of my hand and with her massive, muscular, beefy arms; and said very clearly, “Glah? Da-da-da? COOKIE! Num-num!” I remember well thinking that this might be one of the most articulate moments of her life, and that has proven to be the case. However, the person on the other end of the phone didn’t think so, and he yelled out “*!!{Saturn}@*” at Lizzie. Lizzie was taken aback by the geometric shapes and took her head away from the phone receiver. I took this opportunity to take the phone back from Lizzie. She was upset when I did this and grabbed at the wire on the phone and turned red in the face. Interestingly enough, she did not start screaming until later, so I was able to speak again to the person on the other line. I had hoped to learn more geometric symbols; but the man became strangely quiet, and said he wanted to talk to mom again. I said, “Yeah? You still want wanna talk to her? OK--”

This was the tricky part. Mom had told me not to leave Lizzie alone; but the man on the phone wanted to speak to Mom. How could I get Mom and still not leave Lizzie alone? Brilliantly smart as I was, the answer soon came to me. I held the phone away from my mouth, and yelled, “MAAH” as loud as I could, in order to get her attention from the outside. As I put the phone receiver to my head to tell the man I had called for Mom, I was surprised by a few things:

1. I heard a “CLICK” sound which either meant the man hung up or he had started to speak Xhosa, that African language that uses clicking sounds to talk.
2. I suddenly realized that the phone receiver was bigger than my head.
3. I suddenly realized that the sleeves on my shirt were no longer the same length.

Mom heard my cry and came in with sweat upon her brow, and gardening gloves and a gardening trowel in her hands. I held the phone up to her with both hands in supplication and said, “It’s for you.” I was afraid of what would happen when she discovered the man on the other end of the phone had hung up. Fortunately, Mom is not nearly as accurate with a gardening trowel as she is with a coffee cup.

That was the lesson my son learned from me that day. Sure enough it worked. No longer does he try to the eat the phone. But he has developed a certain predilection for garden trowels.

Love,

Michael Patterson

I guess that was supposta B a lesson in how not 2 answer the fone, eh?

Well, l8 yesterday, the squat got raided! Zenia is convinced that "the guy w/the phallic nose and ridiculous ponytail across the street dropped the dime on us." Cd B. Weed is awfully worried abt property values. NEway, I called Jeremy from the jail and his Mom was so cube abt bailing me out. Dunc insisted on staying cuz "street cred," Eva refused 2 leave his side, and Zenia sed she had 2 stay cuz of her secret "exposé" she's writing.

So, I M back @ Jeremy's and he's trying 2 talk me outta being further involved in what Dunc's got going in TO.

Apes