hold the calls

I admit it. I used to make them. I used to take them. But that was when I was younger, single, non-pregnant, and tended to go out and stay out late. Now I just hate them. What am I writing about? Late night phone calls.

In my book, there are only four acceptable reasons for a late night phone call (and I'm talking any time after 9 p.m.) from a non-relative:

1. It's an emergency. Someone is dying, has died, or possibly could die (as in, I'm so drunk I can't drive and I'm doing the smart thing hoping for a ride) and you need to talk to me. These types of calls should be rarer than Christmas.
   
2. I'm expecting you to call and we've arranged it ahead of time, or I'm expecting you to call since it's incredibly good news. If you had your baby in the middle of the night and know I'd be upset if you didn't call me, then please, pick up the phone!
   
3. You're expecting me to come out and I haven't arrived yet. This would actually apply to my husband more than me since he plays late night hockey games and I tend to stay in. While acceptable, these calls tend to annoy me if they turn into five or six phone calls that eat away at the very limited time I spend with my husband, so keeping it down to one call is advised.
   
4. It's a work emergency. This, too, would apply to my husband rather than me. He works at a plant and sometimes the night guys just need to know something that went on during the day or need advice on a job. This type of call is rare, so understandable.

So to my husband's almost forty-year-old friend who just doesn't get it (and doesn't read this blog, so it won't do a bit of good), get a clue: calling at 10:30 at night and having to have, "Were you sleeping?" be the first words out of your mouth is none other than rude, rude, rude. Al won't tell him that, of course. One of these days I'll just have to answer one of his late night calls and tell him that Al can't speak to him because it's a household rule that we don't take phone calls after 9:00. It wouldn't be so bad if it was a once a year thing, if he lived in a different time zone, etc. But this Peter Pan hasn't quite grown up yet and makes late night calls more often than I'd like. It especially bothers me when Al's worked a twelve-hour day and I've seen him for all of an hour before he gets a call, because Al's too polite to cut off the conversation and lets it go on for twenty to thirty minutes. Argh...

Now that my rant is over, thanks for letting me vent if you've stuck with me. I hate to complain online; Al thinks I complain too much as it is. Of course, half of what he thinks are complaints are not "complaints" in my mind (ah, the joys of miscommunication), but this definitely was one. Off to cooking dinner...