Note to Self: Memorize Husband’s Cell Number

When I arrived at work bright and early (okay, it was still very dark outside) I realized that I had left my purse at home.  My purse that had my wallet, planner, directions to the boys’ school, and my cell phone.  After a brief moment of panic, I realized I could just call my husband later in the morning and ask him to drop off my purse.  I was trying to calm myself down by going over this new plan when I realized that I didn’t have my husband’s cell phone number memorized–I have always relied on the cell phone to keep track of the number.  I started feeling the waves of panic coming back when I remembered that I had thought of this issue a few years ago and wrote down the number in a couple of places in case I ever forgot/broke my phone.

Yes, I’m brilliant, I thought to myself.  Then I tried to remember where I wrote the number down.  Hmm. . .it’s on a card in my wallet. . . which is in my purse.  Okay, okay scratch that.  Other place was. . .in my planner!  Which is in my purse.  Oh no, oh no, oh no!  After a few minutes, I came up with a new plan.  I would call my parents!  Surely they had my husband’s number and I did have my childhood phone number memorized.  Problem solved.

By this time my employer was getting ready to leave, so I embarrassingly told him that I had forgotten my purse, didn’t know my husband’s number, and would need to use the land line to call my parents.  He was confused about why I didn’t know my husband’s phone number but readily agreed to let me use the land line and have my husband drop off my purse.  After that I waited for a decent hour to arrive so I could call my parents.

At 6:30, I tried to call my parents’ house number.  Much to my frustration, the call wouldn’t go through.  I tried again, still nothing.  I tried again, nothing.  Again, nothing.  Again, nothing.  Oh nooooo, why won’t it go through?!  I started pacing around the house while thinking of yet another solution to my ridiculous dilemma.  After another couple of minutes I decided I would find the church’s number in the phone book because there was some sort of forwarding system that might take me to my husband’s cell phone.  I quickly found the number for the church and dialed it.  Much to my dismay, instead of getting my husband’s voicemail, I got the voicemail for the church.  I hung up the phone and started pacing again.  After another couple of minutes, a horrible, terrible, incredibly humiliating solution came to me–I could call the church later and get my husband’s number from Pastor.  Of course, that would mean explaining that I didn’t have my husband’s number memorized, which was starting sound more and more idiotic as the morning went on.

I sat down as I resigned myself to my terrible fate.  Oh, the humiliation of having to go to my husband’s boss to reach my husband.  Why, oh why, didn’t I memorize my husband’s phone number when I had the chance?  I continued to go down my mental list of phone numbers I had memorized.  My parents’ number–already tried.  My number–unlikely that my husband would answer my phone, especially since I didn’t have the house phone saved on it.  My former employers’ home number–um, that would be weird and I don’t think anyone there would have my husband’s number.  911–wait, no, not a big enough emergency.  Think, think, think!

Then I started to think about my brother.  He’s had the same number for almost ten years.  I remembered that every time I looked at his number I would realize that it was really simple.  I had just told my husband the number a couple of weeks ago.  I knew his number!  I just had to remember it!  Breaking down his number, I dug deep into the murky recesses of my phone number memory.  The area code was easy enough, it was the same as mine.  The last four digits had some sort of repetition. . . something, something, something, something.  Then I remembered the pattern.  As for the first three digits, the best I could do was come up with a combination of numbers that sounded right and hoped for the best.  I dialed the number and listened to the rings.

Hahahahah, success!  My brother’s voicemail came through!  I left a message quickly explaining my situation and he called me back within a half hour to give me my husband’s phone number (even better, he didn’t make fun of me and admitted that he didn’t have his fiancee’s number memorized either).  I finally got through to my husband and he delivered my purse in time for me to get the boys’ to school.  The day was saved!  I also learned that no matter how many places I store/write down a phone number, it’s still best to just memorize it.  I think I now have my husband’s number stored in my memory–it has only taken me four years to do so.

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