My refrigerator was running and I had Prince Albert in a can

On Saturday the kids and I were watching Ferris Bueller on Netflix while My Honey was recording in his home studio. My kids thought Ferris was just as brilliant as we all did when we were young. I warned them that they needn’t try any of that nonsense with me since I was hip to all the teenage shenanigans.

Then my cell phone rang. NO CALLER ID. Hmmm, I thought. Weird.

“Hello?”

“Did you order orange chicken?” It was a kid’s voice with a really bad accent.

I sighed and hung up.

It rang again almost immediately. NO CALLER ID.

“Yeah?” I said.

“We here with your orange chicken.” Same voice. Same atrocious accent.

I hung up. I told Sassy some of her friends were calling.

Third time. Ring. NO CALLER ID.

The kid voice yelled this time. “Your orange chicken is so cold!”

“Ok, I’m done now.” I told the voice and hung up.

Almost immediately the phone rang again. This time, it had a phone number. Sassy answered thinking she could see which of her friends was harassing us.

Turns out it was my nephew. He was spending the weekend with friends and they wanted to try crank calling people. He called the last time to make sure I wasn’t mad. How could I be mad? Think of all the horrible things thirteen-year-old boys could be doing on a Saturday night instead of crank calling their aunt.

I hope I get crank calls for many years to come.