Silence

Several years ago, I worked in a pretty small unit, led by a man who liked to get everyone to go out on Friday nights together.  I, of course, being in my twenties, loved it.  One particular Friday, I opted to take the afternoon off, go get a facial, pedicure, waxing, etc., and skip the Friday social.  General rule of thumb was that those invited who did not show up were pestered via telephone calls.  And it got worse as the night went on, because well, we were getting loaded and thought it was pretty funny.

At 5:30, there or abouts, I got the call.

"Deborah, where are you?" he says.  I can hear the rest of the group in the background at the bar, waiting with bated breath for what he might say next.

"I'm at home."

"Are you you coming out with us?"

"No, I don't think I will."

Silence.

"Are you that dog-ugly that you had to take the entire afternoon off to get a facial?" At this point I can hear the others stifling giggles in the background.  Fawk.

"No, actually, it wasn't like that."

"What do you mean?"  he asks. (I can actually hear him smirking at this point.)

"I looked so good when I got home, I decided to stay here and touch myself."

Silence.

Silence.

Perfect.

"WHAT?"

"Robbie," I said softly.  "Nobody screams my name like I do."

I still lay claim to being one of the only people ever to leave that man speechless.