I’m calling my brother Joel. It’s 10:30ish on a Saturday night:
Me: Hey, what’s up?
Him: Who is this?
Me: Your sister.
Him: Who??? (you could HEAR the multiple question marks, y’all)
Me: Your SISTER, dumbass. You awake?
(this is where I explain that usually if I suspect I’ve woken someone with a phone call, I end the call quickly with an apology, but this is the same motherfucker who woke me up about a week ago to talk about our family’s genealogy and would not let me off the phone no matter how many times I said ‘I’m asleep’. What goes around comes around, is what I’m saying here)
Him: What time is it!? (you can just hear him getting worked up. He’s ready to blow a gasket and call me names that I’m too polite to use here)
Me: 10:35. On a Saturday night.
Me: (silent snickering)
Me: (still snickering, only not so silently)
Him. Oh. Crap. So I’m just really lame and old then, right?
Me: Why, yes. Yes, you are.
Him: You’re gonna put this on your fucking blog thingie right?
Me: Well, duh.
I think I’m gonna get him the big bottle of Geritol for his birthday.
This is the part where I bring the clarification smackdown: What made it funny (to us, anyway, since Joel was cracking up every bit as much as I was), was how wound up he was getting, so sure that I had called him at 3 AM. I guess you had to be there. Which…y’all weren’t! So sorry.
(To Mrs. Chili: If you love that I call my brother a dumbass, you should hear the other shit I call him and my other brothers. You would be MOST amused. Trust me)