a phone call from ozzie

i was sitting around the holler one day when, as happens frankly more often than i like, the phone rang. i picked it up, expecting either a telemarketer or my husband. i tend to hang up on one of the two. i’ll leave which to your powers of deduction. instead i heard a distorted voice on the other end that sounded somewhat like my brother-in-law, jim, might if he was trying to mess with me.

“jimmy?” i asked.
“this is ozzie osborn,” the roughened voice said.
“ozzie osborn, huh? so how are you?”
my mother-in-law, who was visiting at the time, shot me a quizzical look.
“um, i have a complaint,” ‘ozzie’ said. “i’m sick of everybody always asking for my autograph.”
“okay,” i told him, “i haven’t asked for your autograph, but i’ll spread the word.”
“um, okay. um, ‘bye.” i guess ozzie’s not much of a conversationalist.

just one more of the nuances of country and small town life. i guess there are, in fact, still people out there bored enough to make prank calls. either that or i’m having elaborate hallucinations. i guess i’ll let you know if i receive any important messages from the almighty.