Is that what you use to 'drunk dial'?

Josie: Momma, when you were a kid, what kind of a phone did you have?

Me: What do you mean?

Josie: Did you have one of those rummery phones?

Me: A rummery phone?

Josie: Yeah, you know… one of the ones that you have to spin the dial?


Ummmm....









Oh.



Me: A ROTARY phone?

Josie (rolling eyes): Noooo… I’m *pretty* sure that it’s called a rummery phone.

Me: Oh yeah? Rummery?

Josie: Yeah.



She was so convincing, that for one split second, I questioned myself.

Maybe I *did* use to call boys, radio stations, and poor hapless people that my friends and I had plucked from the phone book to be the victims of our ridiculous prank calls... all while using a 'rummery' phone?

Is it possible that the reason I can still remember the phone number of the boy I crushed on in junior high is because I dialed it so many times, only to hang up the minute that someone (usually his poor mother) answered?

And when I got my own phone in my room? I no longer had to sit in the hallway, twisting the phone cord around my fingers, while I peered around the corner to make sure no one was eavesdropping. Well, that phone was white, sat on my desk, and was the instrument of countless hours of conversation with my best friend, Michelle. And most of those conversations went a little something like this, "Did you see him in the hall? Did he see you? Did you talk to him? What did he say? He SMILED at you?!" Scintillating conversations, I know.

A junior high girl and her love/ hate relationship with the phone.

The phone rings... (excitement!) (No such thing as 'Caller I.D.', so it's a crapshoot as to who it's for.)

Dad answers the phone... (consternation!)

Dad dares to have a conversation with whomever is on the other end... (complete and utter embarassment!)

Dad tells your older brother that the phone is for him... (disastrous disappointment!)

You realize when your brother gets on the phone that it's one of his hot friends...(exhiliration!)


My 'rummery' phone. Ah, the memories. ;)