Exhibit A: the multitudes whip around to scowl at the poor sap whose ringer interrupts something formal like church or a concert. Exactly 78 seconds later, another one rings. And another one rings. Weren't those people JUST thinking, Wow, is that guy over there ever an idiot. Thank you Lord for blessing me with such a large and pulsing brain...
Well, hey, maybe it's Himself calling to congratulate you for ignoring the hint he just gave you to KILL YOUR OWN PHONE.
Exhibit B: I am struggling with my eavesdropping addiction. I believe it dates back to living in Japan, where I enjoyed listening to extremely personal conversations cloaked in the assumption that I couldn't speak Japanese. You learn alot about a people that way.
So just remember when your cell rings in the Marshall's dressing room: you are not alone. And having never actually bailed out a boyfriend, been in a catfight, or purchased drugs, I will be hanging on your every word, yo.
Exhibit C: My friend Andrea posted here about an obnoxious When the Saints ringtone and the very next day I heard one like it in a bookstore. I laughed out loud and couldn’t help but look over at the guy, who scowled back. What, he was hoping I would mind my own business, ignoring the aural equivalent of hot pink sequins with four-inch fringe on a man who could be a linebacker? Not a chance, big man.
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