It was the middle of the night, so I was pretty jarred when the phone rang.
In a sleepy, grumpy voice I barked “hello!” The young woman on the other end of the line paused for a moment before rushing breathlessly into a lengthy speech. The parts I remember were:
“Mom, this is Susan and I’m sorry I woke you up, but I had to call because I’m going to be a little late getting home. Dad’s car has a flat but it’s not my fault, honest! I don’t know what happened. The tire just went flat while we were inside the restaurant. Please don’t be mad, OK?”
Since I don’t have any daughters, I knew the person had mis-dialed. “I’m sorry dear,” I replied as kindly as I could considering the hour, “but you’ve reached the wrong number. I don’t have a daughter named Susan.”
Susan paused while she considered this uncomfortable fact.
“Gosh, Mom,” she replied with a even more trembling voice. “I didn’t think you’d be this mad!”