Since we got a home phone, most of our calls have been from telemarketers. I ignore them; Joe has fun with them. Take this exchange from the other night:
[The telephone rings.]
“Yesss! A telemarketer,” my husband cries in excitement. “Hello?”
He launches into a carefully planned monologue: “Hi, Robert?! So glad you called; we were just talking about you. Have I got a deal for you! My daughter’s selling Girl Scout cookies.”
Poor Robert. “I’m sorry?” he stuttered across the phone lines.
“We’ve got chocolate chip cookies, chocolate chunk cookies, any kind you want! They’re only a dollar a bag, and if you buy twenty, we’ll throw in some free popcorn! So, whaddya say? I want to make sure you get the best cookies, so how many boxes can I mark you down for?”
“Uh…sorry…?” Robert responded before hanging up in confusion.
“I got a telemarketer to hang up on me,” Joe told me with pride. “How rock star is that?!”
