My boyfriend is spending the weekend at Soggy Marsh Trailer Park. Or something like that. It's up north. Hanover.He called me last night but I didn't pick up because I don't pick up for phone numbers I don't recognize (a few of you are having "aha..." moments right now). The phone number started with "519".
"Funny," I thought, as I continued doing the dishes. "519 is a northern area code. I don't know anyone up north... ... ... ...EXCEPT FOR ANDREW..."
But by then it had gone through to voicemail. He called again today and we spoke, in broken sentences, for about a half an hour. He was sitting on a hill of grass up at Soggy Pond, I was sitting on the cold marble lobby of the College Park building.
He: "I have good reception right here. Can you hear me?"
Me: "Yes. OK, don't move. Can you hear me?"
He: "What? Are you there?"
Me: "I'm here. Can you hear me?"
He: "Can you hear me?"
Then we were disconnected. He called back. Disconnected again. He called back. Disconnected. I called back. Disconnected. He called back.
The last thing I remember hearing was a screamed "I...OVE YOU...U...!!" to which I screamed that I loved him too, before we were disconnected again. The people in the lobby were a little concerned. It could have been the screaming. Or that I sat on the marble tile for about ten minutes afterwards, laughing.
Ah, modern technology.
2 comments:
That sounds very frustrating... I think you should have a glass of red wine and curl up with a nice book. That's book BTW not TV which I think you have had enough of.
Come to think of it, area code 519 might not be north. It might be east. Or west, for that matter. I have a hard time judging anything north of Bloor Street, west of Kipling, and east of Victoria Park. In fact, if I can't see the CN Tower and/or the lake, I'm pretty much screwed.
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