Usually, I take the call. But last night my pink ladies earplugs must have been angling for a promotion, because I barely heard the phone ring. I wasn't hearing anything, actually. And, according to Larry, it was a busy night. In addition to the kids climbing in and out of our bed as usual, the dog, who is weather-sensitive, was feeling nervous about the frost. And when his nerves act up, so do his bowels. So Larry let him out. And then in. And then out. And then in. And the only reason I know all this is because our eight-year-old mattress functions like the scales of justice. If the person on one side gets up; the person on the other side wakes up. No one sleeps through. It's only fair.
But still, Larry was working harder than usual last night. And when the phone call came at two in the morning, my brave husband steeled himself for the worst. With no support from me.
"Wrong number?" I asked, feeling both relieved and guilty for making him get up so many times.
"They wanted to know if Vagina was there."
"You've got to be kidding."
"It's two in the morning."
"So, did you tell them I was asleep?"