It was Monday night and the phone rang just as I was settling in for an evening of Kung Pao chicken, satellite TV, and a cold beer with which I intended to have a short but meaningful relationship. I looked at the caller ID and against my better judgment answered it.
"Hey."
"Hey, Patricia called me back!" the voice on the other end announced.
The voice belonged to my buddy, Mark, a brilliant engineer, hapless romantic, and unfortunately nice guy. The 'she' he was referring to was Patricia, an upwardly mobile professional, emotional work in progress, and the latest mistake for whom Mark had fallen head over heals.
"That's great, Mark. But didn't you leave her a message, like, three days ago?"
To be honest, I surprised myself by remembering even that much. It seemed like every other day he was calling me to give the latest account of his 'relationship' with Patricia. After a while I had begun to just tune it out.
"Yeah, but it's okay. Patricia said she's been busy at work and hasn't been feeling well. Plus her favorite TV shows have been airing new episodes."
"Uh-huh. Well, as long as she had a good excuse," I said, trying to strike a tone that balanced supportive friendship with bitch slap sarcasm.
"That's exactly what I said," he said, the bitch slap having apparently missed the mark. "I played it cool, though, and just told her, 'Don't worry about it. I'm just glad you're all right and we're getting a chance to talk now.' And, man, did we talk! Can you believe we were on the phone for over two hours?"
