Hummingwolf at Home

Me: Hello?

Him: Hello?

Me: Yes, hello.

Him: Yes, may I speak to Mr. [my father's name]?

Me: I'm afraid he's not available. May I ask who's calling?

Him: Oh, I'm, uh, is Mrs. [my father's name] available?

Me: I'm afraid she's not available either. May I ask why you're calling?

Him: I'm [name], a paid caller calling on behalf of Concerned Women for America. When do you think they might be available?

Me: I'm afraid they won't be. They're dead.

Him: Oh. Is there some better time I could call to speak to them?


Oh, those fine upstanding men of Concerned Women for America never fail to let me down. In fairness, this man did say he was just a paid caller calling on their behalf--but one does get the feeling that he fits right in.

A very nice boy called me up to ask me if I wanted the New York Times delivered to my home. In my usual way, I politely but firmly told him that nobody here was interested.

In the tone of one who is far too accustomed to being turned down yet still has some small hope that this time will be different, he asked, "No interest at all?"

It's been a long time since I heard that voice, but it's hard to forget. I wanted so much to tell him that even boys who can't find dates for the prom still can go on and get married and have babies, but I settled for saying, "Have a good day" as gently as I could.