why this entry will be short

Eric’s phone has its own ring.  We really only have one phone, but when Eric moved in he didn’t want to lose his phone number,  because “that’s how everyone knows how to reach him.”  I think it’s his way of holding on to the last parts of his single life.  In case one day some redhead is cleaning out her wallet and finds some phone number on the back of a receipt and thinks to herself, “Oh, here’s that number of that guy I always wanted to go out with…”

In any event, his old phone number now just goes straight to our phone.

In the time that it took for me to write the above paragraph, his phone line has rung twice.

Eric doesn’t answer his line very often, he just screens the calls.  Consequently, every telemarketer in the world has his phone number at the top of the “haven’t reached yet” list.  I refuse to answer these calls because I feel that knocking yourself off a telemarketer list is a responsibility of having a phone number.  I take care of the main line, Eric should take care of his private booty call line.

But he doesn’t.  And now that I’m home today, I’m going insane.

Every twenty minutes I hear the phone ring.  I jump up to answer, and then hear the tell-tale double ring.  It’s for Eric.  Don’t answer it, he should answer it…

It rings four times, the answering machine picks up and the caller hangs up without leaving a message.

It’s happened seven times in the past three hours.  I can’t take it anymore.  I may have to start answering the phone just to find out who finds Eric so important.  I’ll tell the New York Times he’s not interested, I’ll tell the Austin-American Statesman we already get the paper.  I’ll tell the student loan people that I don’t know when he’ll be home.  I’ll tell the Visa people he’s not interested.  I’ll tell the AT&T people that we already use their service, so there’s no need for them to switch us back.

I’ll tell them all to leave us alone and let me have my Friday afternoon in peace.

But I really feel like I’d be giving in, and Eric would have a victory.  I’m sure that sounds childish.  But you know, I’m just gonna sweat it out.  One day he’ll be stuck at home sick (which has never happened, but now that we’re in the two year mark, I’m sure he’ll pick up a flu or something eventually…) and he’ll be forced to listen to the constant double ring.

What’s annoying about the double ring besides the fact that I keep hearing it, is knowing that it’s never for me.  It isn’t a long lost friend, or even a buddy of Eric’s that I haven’t spoken to in a while.  It’s not his family because they don’t call during the day.  It’s not him, because he calls home on the other phone line.  I suppose there’s the odd chance it’s a girl looking him up, but I don’t want to spend my Friday afternoon playing out some bizarre jealous girlfriend soap opera.

So I sit here, with my book, pretending that I don’t mind the background music of the double ring.

OH!  There it is again.  That’s it.  I’m going out for lunch.

Where’s Chuy?