When I was young and cute and skinny and had mile long legs and perky boobs, (aaaah yes, I remember…), I waitressed in a swanky cocktail bar for loads of cash. For those were the days when the economy was booming in Houston and business men threw around cash like politicians do blame. I came across many an amorous man who would ask me for my phone number. I began to see the correlation between my tips and the giving of the phone number to those that would ask. A lot of my friends that worked there would give a fake number just made up on the spot, but I thought that was a bit rude and besides, return customers always tipped best anyway. So one day when I noticed an add in the phone directory for a place that sounded perfect, I memorized the number and gave it out at work as mine from then on.
I like to think that in addition to letting a guy down gently I also, in my own little way, contributed to Christianity when these unsuspecting, drunk dialing, slobs reached Dial-A-Prayer in the wee hours of the morning and there was no way in hell I was answering the phone anyway.