A sad thought popped into my mind the other day. I will never again be able to make an anonymous prank phone call. Technological advances like caller ID and *69 make it too risky. I would be mortified if someone called me back to ask if a middle-aged mother of four had just demanded the release of Prince Albert from his can.
When my sister and I were teenagers, we were Queens of the Prank Call. We were not mean or crude. Oh, no. We prided ourselves on our cleverness and professionalism. Our goal was not to humiliate or scare, but to elicit good-natured laughs from the other end. Once, a victim actually chuckled, "Good one!" We floated on Cloud 9 for a week after that high praise.
Our creative process was simple. We'd flip through names in the phonebook until we came across something unusual, then plan our spiel. For example, we found the name Sixberry. We called the residence, I asked for Mr. Sixberry, and then kindly introduced myself as Mary, a consultant for the Sesame Street Children's Television Workshop. I continued, In an effort to improve our broadcast segments involving mathematics, I am calling this evening to inquire whether adding one berry . . . to five berry . . . would indeed result in . . . SIXBERRY. Click.
Those were the days. Candy tasted sweeter and prank phone calls seemed funnier.
Dinner last night: husband cooked! tater tot casserole