Nice voicemail this morning: "Hey, Nance, it's [The Irishman]. I called to apologize for last night. Not fair of me to invite you out for the evening, then literally fall asleep on your shoulder at the movie. Bit selfish of me, and for that I'm truly sorry. I'll talk to you in the next day or so, and I'll see you Tuesday of course. All right. Take care, bye."

Hrrrrrmmm. It SEEMS like he's paying attention.

And I guess it's okay if he calls me Nance. People I like can call me that. Lots of family members and friends call me that, but for some reason I've never been called that by any of the men with whom I've been romantically involved. Odd. I like it.

See how disarming he can be? Blast.

Also, does anyone else remember when we didn't have voicemail or even answering machines? Or, for that matter, push-button phones? Holy mackerel.

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