Mr. I

Ever since Calvin left, I’ve been getting phone calls. You know the kind, there’s a person on the line, but they don’t say anything, they just listen. Normally, I just hang up. But this morning, the Idiot (known in our house as Mr. I) woke me up very early. And, I am not happy.

I could be “freaked” and nervous. But I’ve been down this road before, in a much, much worse form and before there were anti-stalking laws. Now it’s an annoyance—my life is too busy for these shenanigans. So, this morning I talked to the kids about it because I want to keep track of how many of these calls we’re getting in a day. Before I spoke to the kids, I thought “Oh, I have to be careful; I don’t want to scare them.” Clearly, I hadn’t had my morning coffee yet. Teenage boys aren’t freaked out by a stalker. They think it’s uber-cool. They were giddy. After all, they have testosterone, they’re proficient in steel-based self-protection, and the have Jez—the bullet you can re-call.

Now the boys are planning for the next phone call. I’m sure I won’t be able to get to the phone today at all. Matt’s plan is to blow our bo’sun’s whistle into the phone. Jacob’s plan is to laugh and comment on how Jezebel delights to eat human flesh. And Luke’s plan is to curse the caller. Of course, Luke’s idea of cursing is to call someone “The Son of an Incontinent Camel.” Yes, he’s been reading too much Elizabeth Peters.

So, dear stalking phone caller, please don’t forget to call—my boys will be terribly disappointed if you don’t.