I have a telephone in my bathroom. Doesn'teveryone? It really began with my attraction to gadgets. When my computer guru, Randy, saw the box holding my six telephone headsets, he said, "you do like your toys." He was laughing, of course, while my mind protested. But he has my number, all of them.
In my defense, I could blame my daughter, Judith, for the six headsets. When I was visiting her recently, we sauntered into her local Fryes because I needed a new phone system.
So hereI can really blame my husband, Des, who complained about the small sized numbers on his cordless phone in his home office. Plus, our stationery phone with the answering machine in the kitchen wasn't picking up phone message anymore. Instead, some mysterious electronic troublemaker managed to get the messages switched to my home office phone. It is our silent prowler, we blame for mysterious disappearances and quirky happenings in our home.
But I digress. There we were in Fryes standing before rows of telephone answering machine set ups and I found the perfect one, with the stationery set plus two handsets. Ready to seal the deal, along came Judith with this huge box with the same brand name, everything cordless and 6 handsets. You have to get this one, she urged. It cost just as much as the two set one did. Such a deal. She seemed so proud of herself, I had to buy it. Besides, the numbers were much larger, better to see to dial, I will tell Des later.
Once back home, I stared at the box for a week, until I screwed up my courage and opened the darn thing. There sat on my bed, all these handsets, separate stands, battery packs, manual and me. The manual indicated that all the handsets had to be charged for at least 17 hours. Our house looked like a way station for transmitters to Mars. But I did it, all my myself.
Serendipitously speaking, Randy showed up to help me with a computer problem just about the time I was ready to unhook the old system and launch my new one. Did that and voila, we are only left with where to put all the handsets. Thus, one was left over and therefore, it is in the bathroom. This only brings up one concern.
When you call our house, you will never know from which room we are answering your call. It could be in the kitchen as I stir the sauce for spaghetti, or in the bedroom as we watch Mike Rowe sink into a manhole during his TV stint on Dirty Jobs. Or it could be in the bathroom while answering another call. You will never know, and we will never tell.
So says Sassy
