I also enjoyed wearing the pumps.
However, as enjoyable as the pumps and the deep personal satisfaction I received from assisting a client while using my own pen which no one else was allowed to touch, were, the job did leave me with a strange sense of powerlessness when confronted with a ringing phone, one that must be answered at all costs. There was no escaping it, it was my job, I accepted it and Dealing With The Public Tam excelled at it.
And here we come to the root of it. I am no longer a receptionist, at the mercy of Alexander's shrill invention. Free to do as I wish, I have in my possession a phone which can follow me everywhere, can interrupt me at any time. It rings when I am watching Doctor Who, when I am walking my dogs, when I am at the beach, when I am in line to buy groceries. It rings and I, luxury of luxuries, ignore it. Bliss.
Except.
Except for when Husband is out being dangled over wreckage or flinging himself into the ocean in the black of night, risking his life to save others from the grip of Death's cold fingers. Then, only then, do I answer this phone when it rings, should it ring. For what if the heart that was beating it's last was the one I can hear in my sleep? What if the breath that whispers my name in the darkness was calling one final time? When Husband is out risking that life more precious than my own to save someone else's one and only, I will always answer, will always respond.
Which is why I was so thrilled to discover, upon answering my phone this morning, that I have been selected to receive a free trip to Las Vegas, Nevada.
Well played, Mystery Caller. Well played.
