Love actually

Note: On the Facebook page, I mentioned a little while back that I had a folder full of drafts I never finished: More than 60 of 'em, in fact. I'm going through that folder now, deleting what's not worth it, posting what might entertain you. This gem dates back to January 2013; I'm skipping around some, chronologically. 

I just had a call from my mother's cell phone.

I answered it, and my father said, "It's me, actually. Your mother wanted me to call and tell you that we suddenly have to go downstairs and measure something, so she can't talk to you right now."

"OK," I said. "She can call me later; I should be around. Have fun. Talk to you both later."

I have now had several minutes since then to analyze this, and it strikes me as hilarious now.

Because: "It's me, actually"? You're my dad. You're allowed to call me.

Also: "We suddenly have to go downstairs and measure something"? There is a little context that makes this less strange, but it doesn't matter. It is entirely possible that on any given day, my mother would be unable to talk to me because she suddenly has to go measure something somewhere in the house. As far as I can remember, I have only ever measured one thing in my house: The space I have for a new refrigerator, and I've had to measure it maybe four times, because I keep losing whatever scrap of paper I wrote the measurements down on. But measuring would never be sudden or frequent or on an emergency basis for me, I don't think.

Notes from the future, which is to say July 2013: I have measured that space for the refrigerator at least twice more, and I am pleased to be able to say that after a year of sporadic measuring, there is a new refrigerator in said space, due almost entirely to assistance and pressure from my parents. It totally fits.