This is a PSA, please never call me.
Ugh, did you even listen to me? I see your name popping up right now because my phone is literally in my hands, but obviously I’m not answering, you freaking psycho. What do you want? Why are you trying to pop my personal bubble like this? If this is a life threatening emergency, please hang up and call 9-1-1.
My phone is kind of like the Real Housewives franchise. On one hand, I can’t live without it. And on the other, every time I hear it, I want to stab myself with a potato peeler.
Texting exists for a reason. It’s the millennial telegram. So chic! So helpful! If you must call me, you are required to send a notifying text and wait until I respond to said text. Something like, “You free for a quick phone call?” or “Hey, can I call you for a second?”
Yes, both of those texts will still make me shit myself in fear. But at least I can pop a Xanax before answering.
The only person I actively enjoy talking to on the phone is my mother. I have her name in my contact list with a crown emoji next to it because she is the queen of everything and therefore allowed to call me. However you — telemarketer, drunk dude from the bar, my dentist, you are not. Is there a crown emoji next to your name? I THINK NOT.
I guarantee there’s nothing you need to tell me that can’t be expressed over a text or email.
Please, just let me live!!!