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Don’t call me! I’m eating!

By Muriel Lilker

“Let it ring,” my husband says, as he spoons gravy over his potatoes.

Is he kidding? Doesn’t be know I am constitutionally unable to let a telephone ring.

“It’s just someone selling something,” he adds as I reach for the phone. “Your meatloaf will get cold.”

But it turns out that “Hello” is all I’m able to utter, as the caller begins his pitch at 80 words a minute.

“This is Keith, ma’am, with terrific news. Now you can save on all your phone calls, and especially long distance.”

“Listen,” I say, “I can’t talk to you now. We’re having dinner.”

As if he doesn’t know.

“Let me tell you how you’ll save on long distance,” he goes on.

“I don’t call long distance,” I tell him. “The only people I know who are out of town I never spoke to when they lived in New York.”

“And you can benefit in more ways than you ever expected,” he goes on.

“Hey, enough already,” my husband shouts. “Where’s my broccoli? Put that phone down!”

“Look,” I say to Keith, “I’m going to have to say good-bye now.”

“Oh, but I haven’t told you about our budget saver,” Keith says.

Uh-oh! Not only can’t I resist a ringing phone. But a bargain too?

“Is that broccoli burning?” my husband shouts.

Whoops!

“Hold it,” I shout to Keith, as I abandon him to dish out the unburnt portion on Jack’s plate.

When I pick up the phone again I just say “I have to hang up now,” and do it.

Which is when I start to worry. Does Keith have a family to support? Can be meet his bills? Do I really want to eat burned broccoli?

“Listen,” my husband says, “from now on I’ll answer the phone at dinnertime.

Three nights later I was pouring sauce over his baked salmon when the telephone rang.

“I’ll get it,” Jack said, as he jumped up to answer it.

“Look, fella,” he said, “we’re having dinner now. What? But we just had our chimney cleaned.”

Holding his hand over the receiver, Jack hisses to me, “How do you think the chimney looks?”

“Fine,” I say, although I can’t remember the last time I even noticed it.

“What?” Jack says into the phone. “There may be soot there whether we know it or not? A buildup of soot? And you have a monitor that shows if there’s a problem?”

“Jack,” I say, “the sauce is curdling on your salmon.”

“And you have a quarterly plan? And that includes the monitor?”

“Who is that?” I ask Jack, who waves at me to be quiet.

“Only $49.50?” he asks. “And half-price if get it today?”

“That’s $40 too much,” I say.

“Well, okay,” says Jack. “Wait a minute and I’ll get my credit card number.”

I can’t believe it! He can take calls from utter strangers and agrees to whatever they’re selling!

Listen, you can phone us if you want to. But only if we already know you. And you’re not selling something.

And not at dinnertime!