"Is this the party to whom I'm speaking?"

Philip loves to answer the phone. When it rings, and he's not near it, he yells "phone!" as loud as possible to let us know. As if we're deaf (of course we are now as a result of that brutal announcement!).

If he's near the phone, he's very quick to answer it...and conducts himself like a real gentleman...unless it's Johnny on the other end. Then the nonsense goes on...and on...and on. We love it. And it's always the same after he hangs up. "I'll get him!" (watch your back Johnny, 'cause one day he will!).

"...oh I'll get you!"

Over the years we have educated Philip in regards to telemarketers. With display phones, he knows not to answer if it says 'unknown caller' (wish I could teach Diane that. Not that she likes to talk, but the other day the phone rang, she answered it, talked for 30 minutes, and happily hung up. I asked who it was. She replied, "Wrong number!"). But in Philip's case, every now and then a call slips through ('cause it just might be his brother, and this time he'll get him!).

Once, back in Ontario, when Philip was about 12, we came home and were greeted by a very excited young boy. He launched into this story about a phone call and how he'd given his name, and address, and said 'yes' a few times...and that something was coming in 7 days! Diane made a cup of tea, I poured myself a 'stiff one'...and the interrogation began. Twenty minutes later we'd determined that Philip had ordered an annual subscription to our local daily newspaper - The Hamilton Spectator. He was so proud! Diane looked at me and smiled...she knew I received a copy every morning at my desk at work...for free! Home delivery cost 52 bucks. What a deal! For the next year Philip faithfully brought the paper in, removed the sports section, and handed us the rest. It was money well spent!

A few years later we were surprised again. Diane opened the door one day to find a man standing on the front door step with a giant water cooler, which, apparently, we had ordered. Along with a year's supply of 'fresh, crystal clear, ever-so-tasty, locally produced, spring water' - delivered weekly 'right to our door'! Diane quickly called me at work. I, of course, knew nothing of this ('cause I had a glass of fresh spring water delivered every morning to my desk!). Then in unrehearsed and unsolicited unison we uttered,"Philip!"

Well sure enough, after inviting the 'waterworld wonder' in and calling Philip from his room, it was determined, in no time at all, how this 'deal-of-a-lifetime' had found it's way into our home. Philip had answered the phone, listened intently to the pitch of an aggressive sales person...readily agreed to 'whatever' had been said...and then neglected to inform his parents.

Now had it been this cooler...well!

Needless to say, Diane was not happy with the water man, and discussed her displeasure with his company's inability to discern legitimate responses to their telemarketing ploys. He listened patiently as she berated him, apologized profusely, assured her they would better vet future potential customers, asked for a glass of water (hehehe), and left.

That was over 10 years ago. Last week the Scorekeeper informed us that he had again taken a phone call from an unknown source...answered several questions (mostly with 'yes')...and that we would be receiving something in 7 days! Oh joy...oh bliss! He has no idea what he agreed to. But rest assured, unless it's a Russian Mail Order Bride, or an autographed picture of the recent Stanley Cup Champions (thank you very much) - the Chicago Black Hawks - it's going back!

Speaking of blowing one's horn! Aren't those South African zuzuvelas annoying? I was so looking forward to the World Cup, but that constant droning of those horns is driving me, and apparently half the watching soccer world, crazy!

Philip won't watch the games. He's never shown an interest in soccer - never will now! Hates the noise of those 'jet engines'. Says he can't "contrate"(concentrate).

But put him in front of the TV on Monday Nights...in front of 18,000 screaming, insane, mindless, maniacal wrestling fans...in front of a plethora of idiotic, steroid-sated, brazenly hairless, metallically-bronzed, baby-oiled, 'grown' men purporting to be professional wrestlers...and crank up the volume. Now that's concentration!

There's a place for horns. Like at the ready in your back pocket when sharing the sidewalks here in Kitimat these days with the bears

...or if you're in Pamplona

...or if you're a Viking!

...or a Swiss Mountain Man

...or Foghorn Leghorn!

...or a French dude

...or a Horn of Plenty

They belong in cars...

...and on bicycles...

...and on rams!

...or at the tip of South America!

But not at Soccer Games!

(grrrr!)