Ah, the perils of cancerbrain.
As we were preparing to leave, I could not find the car keys. I’d swapped cars with Mother of the Child, as her seats are much higher and more vertical than those in either the Genre Car or the Witchmobile, and are built such that I can position myself with less pain and discomfort.
The car keys were eventually found in my pocket. (Ahem.) I called back both numbers and left messages saying everything was alright, no need to call me back (calls 5 and 6). A few minutes later, D— called me back (call 7). We had one of those conversations one has with children where an otherwise erudite and verbose child suddenly acquires the conversational agility of a soap dish.
D—: “What did you want?”
A few minutes later,
A few minutes later, Mother of the Child called me back (call 9). I carefully explained that I was trying to head off further phone calls by telling people everything was alright, that my initial message no longer applied, and they really, really, really didn’t need to call me back any more, really, I swear, everything was fine.
At 1:30 this morning, my cell phone rang, waking me out of a sound sleep (call 10). It was D—’s mother. “From the caller ID, it looks like you called. What’s up?”