Accidentally Phone Tapped


Heart rug is hearted.

Sometimes I listen to Elvis Duran in the morning, and the best part is the Phone Taps, where they prank-call someone, playing up on their most reactive qualities.

Ever since we bought this house (a week ago), I’ve been unintentionally phone-tapping my dad.  You see, every day this week, we’ve been going over to the house and doing something to it to make it habitable, then collapsing in a heap when we get back to Mr. B’s mom’s house for bed.  This has included:

Every night, I call my mom and update her on our progress.  Usually, my dad is lurking in the background, and based on my mom’s reaction, I can hear him faintly shouting pessimistic things into the phone. The shouting gets louder if he becomes more pessimistic.

Two days ago, I made the unfortunate mistake of telling my mom that our windows are not standard-sized and that we will need custom blinds. It has so far taken us three days going to three stores to price out blinds. In the meantime, our neighbors can see me drinking champagne on top of an unplugged washing machine in the living room.

“Oh, that’s not good,” my mom said diplomatically and sympathetically.

“What? What’s going on over there,” I heard my dad .  My mom muffled the phone from me and told him that our windows were not standard-sized.  He shouted a bunch of helpful suggestions such as, “Try measuring again.  You’re not measuring right. Your house is weird,” before my mom offered the phone to him and left the room.

“What do you mean your windows aren’t standard,” he asked.

“They just aren’t.  We’ll have to buy custom-made blinds,” I repeated.

“Hold on,” he shouted and the phone went silent for a couple of minutes.  He was getting his tape measurer to measure his house windows.

“We don’t need help,” I begged into the phone. “I’m just sharing a story that happened to me today.”  The phone was quiet.

“Hm.  Well, I guess your windows ARE different,” he mulled as the tape measurer retracted. “Hold on, let me go measure some more.”  Silence again.

“Ok, your windows are weird.  What kind of a builder builds a house that way?” My dad went on a diatribe.

“Dad, we’re buying custom blinds.  It’s not a big deal.”

Unfortunately, unlike a phone tap, I could never tell him that our windows really ARE standard-sized and I was messing with him.  Although the next time I want to get his blood pressure up, I’ll probably tell him I saw a little water in the basement, I’m sure it was nothing.

(In case you’re reading this, Dad, there’s no water in the basement.  Honestly.)