Why I oughta...

Surely you've heard us speak of "Crazy Bill" who renamed himself "Crazy Uncle Bill" after the birth of our daughter. Okay, he doesn't call himself "Crazy" but he's crazy none the less. Anyway, Bill, a certified loon, was our neighbor the first two years that we were married. He kind of duped us into being his friends (by pretending he didn't know how to do anything for himself), and he's been calling us ever since. Thankfully, when we moved 2 hours away from him, his phone calls diminished from several times a day, to just a few times a month.

Bill, albeit a bit pesky, is pretty special to us. In terms of family, he does not have much to speak of, and he has been nothing but generous and thoughtful towards from day one. Mind you the generosity might be a bit misplaced at times, offering me old chipped dishes as a "gift" or a 2nd hand electric razor to Pat (not to mention old 70's porn! Ewww!). His gifts have been laughable at best almost every time, but just when you were about to throw his next gift out the window sight unseen, he presents you with his mother's watch proclaiming, "My mother would want someone as nice as you to have her favorite watch." And furthermore, in his defense, for every gift he's given us that was totally bizarre, his gifts to our daughter have always been surprisingly appropriate and absolutely lovely.

As is his custom on Sunday evenings, Bill called last night...several times. He has OCD, and it manifests itself in his telephone dialing. If you don't answer your phone for his call, he'll just keep calling, every 10 minutes. Last night,we got in late and were exhausted, and, well, we just didn't answer the phone. So tonight when he called again, someone certainly had to speak to him. Pat had already agreed that it was his turn to talk to him, as I had been receiving all of Bill's calls for months now being forced into painful conversations about the mechanics of breastfeeding, his battle with hemorrhoids, window displays at Victoria Secret, and a detailed play-by-play of every electronic in his home, described as only someone with OCD could describe them. (He's a real gadget/media/camera freak!)

Pat, in spite of his urgent desire to get his laundry done, fielded the call. I do love Bill, but sometimes you just do not have what it takes on a given evening to have the kind of conversation he requires. My husband quickly offered to Bill that I had gone to the gym, thus rendering me unable to come to the phone. (One point for husband!) The conversation lingered on, until suddenly I hear coming from my bedroom the sound of my husband giving him my CELL PHONE NUMBER! (Husband LOSES point!) Then he gives me this look from the doorway of our bedroom as if I DESERVED to have my cell phone number given to a 76 year old man with OCD that does not exclude making excessive phone calls at all hours of the day. Then, delving into the standard conversation about digital cameras that one is required to have with Bill when on the phone with him, Pat tells Bill that I was the one that broke our digital camera (NOT TRUE -- Husband -1 points!!) and now I'll be forced to deal with the scorn of Crazy Uncle Bill for the next 3 months because I don't know how to take care of a camera. Thank you Pat, thank you very much! (He says this is "what I get" for making him take the call!)