6.2.20

“Hi, Maga. It’s Abby.”

“Hi, Abby dear.”

“How are you?”

“Well, I’m here.”

“That’s enough for me!”

“What did you do today?”

“Let’s see. It was a very busy work day, and then I talked with a friend as it’s her birthday.”

“How old is he?”

“She is 39.”

“Your son?!”

I burst out laughing. “No, no. My friend. I don’t have a son.”

“How could you have a son that age?”

“I don’t have a son that age or any age.”

“Whose birthday was it?”

“My friend. Girl friend. From college. School. Friend.” I threw a whole bunch of words out there to see what would stick.

“What day is today?” Maga said.

“Tuesday.”

“Oh, yes. The day you usually call.”

“I’m nothing if not consistent,” I said.

“No, I think not.”

I took a moment to puzzle it out and came to zero conclusions, so decided it was best to switch things up. “Are you watching TV?”

“Yes.”

I was about to ask a follow-up question when she continued speaking. “This talented love man. I don’t know who he is.”

“Nor I.” Nor I, dear reader, as he’s woefully absent from my life.

“This crazy man. He has a piece of toast. He’s wearing it.”

“Toast?”

“T-O-A-S-T.” Maga spelled for me.

“And he’s wearing it?”

“Yes. It’s a crazy program.”

“Sounds like it.”

“You’re such a dear relative to call. Thank you.”

And just like that, I was dismissed. I guess I wasn’t surprised, really, because a talented love man wearing toast? I’d rather pay attention to that too.

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