Learning to communicate with someone with whom you've spoken face-to-face EVERY DAY for the past twenty-two years after they've moved three thousand miles away is a little challenging. I detest talking on cell phones. I miss the big, bulky phone receivers that used to take up your entire face. It was very clear cut. You never wondered which side the speaker was on...it had a convenient handle to grasp...you haven't
lived until you've swung an extended curly phone coil around like you're getting ready for a double-dutch tournament while chatting mindlessly with your best pal.
But Sydney and I are starting to get a grip on what works best for us as evidenced by this transcript from a recent Facebook messenger conversation:
Amy: Do the wavy dots mean you're typing?
Sydney: Sometimes. Sometimes it means I left the typer thing on
Grandpa signed up for a discount card at Value and dramatically removed his coupon to save $5 from a $20 purchase from the little card detailing how to validate his account on-line. I was ridiculously pleased to be assigned the important task of signing him up. I carefully placed this document in my back pocket for safekeeping only to GASP discover...when I got home (cliffhanger)
that it was gone. "Oh no!" I gasped and immediately began tearing the house apart.
Hearing the panic in my voice and seeing the terror in my eyes, your father rushed out to the van to see if it was there...
I had been entrusted with this awesome responsibility and I blew it...we wracked our brains and mentally retraced my steps...
There was no where where I would have left my rear flank exposed...
Could it be that I had been victimized by an evil villain intent on assuming your Grandfather's identity to cash in on his lucrative Value deals and discounts? According to the document (that I held, so briefly in my possession), Grandpa would be given privy to some advanced sales unbeknownst to the uninformed consumer who wasn't savvy enough to get in while the gettin' was good.
In desperation, I finally conducted a self-imposed strip search. Perhaps I'd missed my pocket and mistakenly tucked the card into my lady looms. I'd never felt so violated.
Although to be fair, you have discovered wads of cash in a similar fashion
It was time to face the music. I called my parents...although they put on a brave front...I could tell they were devastated. They'd really been counting on those savings from Value.
I was given one ridiculously small task and I failed.
It was a risk they took. You aren't to blame
No wonder they chose my brother to be the executor of their estate.
You would be a great executor of state! Or is that Secretary of State?
Amazing how a 30 second story can transform into a made-for-TV docu-drama...
Now, I realize that this LOOKS as though the conversation is a tad one-sided, but as I said before, it's a work in progress. My written communications with Savannah consist of postie note progress reports detailing damage that I've done to her apartment or a list of jobs that neither of us wants to complete for the other. So I'm going to chalk up my little Facebook Messenger chats with Sydney as a win.
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