It's for you. It's Mr. Thon.
"Huh," he said. "Do you know anyone named Thon Phona?"
"Thon?" I repeated. "No, I don't think so."
"Me either. I'm not going to answer it."
"Can I see it?"
He passed me the phone, and that's when I very nearly died laughing.
"What?" Mike asked, mystified, as my body shook and and I struggled to push the words out.
"It's not... Thon... Phona!" I gasped, tears leaking from my eyes. "It says Phona Thon! IT'S A PHONATHON!"
"A telemarketer?" Mike asked. I held the phone out.
"It's for you!" I choked out. "It's... MR. THON!"
"Caller ID usually reverses the first and last names!" Mike huffed. "How was I suppsed to know?"
And I just couldn't help it. I collapsed on the floor, laughing myself silly.
I'm such a tool sometimes.
Yesterday I was happy as a pig in a poke because it was finally warm enough to plant annuals. I've already started my herbs, beans, bell peppers, and tomatoes from seed, but buying the annuals and seeing the brightly-colored blooms makes my dizzy with delight. I could spend hours and hours in a nursery, plotting and planning and burying my face in the basil plants.
(Sometimes I think I should have been a horticulturist. Seeing dirt under my fingernails doesn't gross me out; it makes me happy.)
But before the flower-buying extravaganza could take place, there was an errand. It was a fun one, though: Mike and I headed to Dick's to buy new hiking shoes. Then we stopped at a massive Whole Foods for lunch. Do any of you have these jumbo-sized Whole Foods that have almost every kind of prepared food imaginable, complete with wine bar and cafe? We ended up agreeing on three slices of pizza (Caprese, vegetable, and mushroom & shallot), and I managed to sneak a thick wedge of cake with very creamy frosting onto the counter.
Not exactly the lunch of champions, but very satisfying all the same. We just bought new and improved hiking shoes, for God's sake. Of course we'll make up for it.
Then it was onto the nursery, where I happily skipped among the flowers as Mike trailed after me, dutifully pulling the wagon.
All day I was wearing this shirt. I love wearing it because it makes me laugh, and often I hear snorts and chuckles from passers-by, or an occasional exclamation of "I love that shirt!". And really, nothing makes me feel better than making someone laugh.
I do, however, have to remind myself that when you wear a shirt with words plastered across the chest region, you have to expect and accept that people will be staring at your rack.
Sometimes I forget and get all feministically perturbed.
By the way, Augusten Burrough's Possible Side Effects is making me laugh as hard as the phone call from Thon Phona. Listen to it on CD (Augusten reads it himself). If you don't bust a gut, we simply cannot be friends anymore.
I can't remember ever laughing so hard in rush hour traffic.