A WIFE'S PROPHECY

     "Is this yore numbah, Thomas?  Is this the raht numbah, Thomas?  Please cowl me at..."

     She had a definite Southern accent, and her voice sheepishly wafted out from the answering machine.  She was definitely young-ish; however she could have been 16 or 60.  As a transplant from the North, I have heard so many women don the conquettish, waif like persona of the Southern damsel in distress, like images found in film and television.  Even Bugs Bunny was known to slip into this character during his frequent cross-dressing gags. 

     The number on the caller ID featured a Texas area code.  But there was one problem:   I have only two active contacts from Texas, my father in law and a former professor, and neither of them sounded like this young lady.  

     About two hours later she called back.  I was cooking by then, and I didn't have time to talk to this stranger.  Gingerly, I picked up the cordless handset and lodged it between my ear and shoulder, trying my best to not drop it.  Yes, I have dropped my phones into salad, dishwater, even hot chicken grease.

     "Excuse me Miss, with whom would you like to speak?"

     She answered with my full name, and from the way she said it so comfortably, I knew she was either telling the truth or she was a skilled telemarketer.

     Then I asked:  "Where did you get this number from?"

     "The Ainternet."

     "And where did you meet this person?"

     "In a chay-at room."

     By this alone I knew she didn't know me.  I don't visit chat rooms; the closest thing I might do are brief text conversations on Facebook, and I rarely do that:  It's distracting.
I continued:

     "Please excuse me for asking...but as far as you know, what race or color is this person?"

     She answered cautiously:  "White."

     "I'm sorry ma'am, but you definitely have the wrong number."

      Later on, I told my wife about my mysterious caller. Her eyes roll at the mere mention of anything having to do with technology, even though she's an avid user.  I gave her the number and also invited her to pick up the phone if my erroneous caller called back.  She merely yawned and rolled her eyes again;  I am thankful that my wife isn't anything like the character Rasputia in Eddie Murphy's NORBIT.

      My wife went back to whatever she was reading.  But as she did, she cited her oft-repeated Mantra:  "Computers are going to kill us all one day!"...