Cider Press Hill

Oyyyyy

The lad’s young lady called from Scotland early this afternoon and left a message. She sounded very homesick.

Just a little while ago I came upstairs to find him on the phone. I assumed it was one of his buddies (the one he was supposed to hang with today discovered his mom had other plans for him. So it goes.). Then I heard “I miss you, too.”

I flew into his room. “WHO are you talking to?”

He gave me a crooked smile and said, “Becky.”

“Cut it short. How long have you been talking?”

Just a couple of minutes as it turned out. I gave him five more minutes.

I think later today he will trot himself over to the store and get himself a calling card for his sweet-heart talks. He can dole out the minutes as he sees fit. Because...I don’t think an every other day call to Scotland had better show up on my phone bill. No, I don’t think so.

They are, at this very moment, rediscovering the inexpensive joys of instant messaging. But, to be honest, she sounds as if she needs a few phone calls. Being homesick is a pretty terrible feeling.

Posted on 07/13/05 at 02:19 PM
 




Commenting is not available in this weblog entry.

Cider Press Hill

Next entry: Rocketman

Previous entry: Evidently