Last week, I received a voicemail message from some kid. After listening to the incoherent mumbles of what sounded like a 12 year old boy, I realized the message was for Avery.Who is Avery? I haven't a clue.
Determining the youngster dialed the wrong number, I moved on. The adolescent terror did not, as the next day he called several more times. No additional were messages left, so I didn't give the calls much thought - that is, until the texting began! I was at my brother's, engaged in family holiday festivities at the time.
The typing assault went as follows:
Pisspot: Hey im crying please text me back im so sad and i i want to talk to someone
Me: u have the wrong number
Pisspot: Who is this
Me: who r you?
Pisspot: Who is this
Pisspot: Who is this!!!?
Pisspot: Whoooooooooooooo is thisssssssssssss please answer me
Pisspot: Tell me who you are nowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
Pisspot: Tell me who you are nowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
By now, I realized I was paying for this little pisspot to interrogate me. So, after I said, "For fucksake, I cant take the pain anymore!" My big brother immediately jumped into action and said, "Do you want me to take care of this?" Without saying a word, I handed Justin the phone and chest bowing, he stepped outside.
I haven't heard from my little "friend" since.
Oh yea - did I happen to mention - my brother is 42 and only a couple years older than I.
The advantages of being a little sister really are timeless!
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