Now you listen to me, you sanctimonious old bat. You are calling to let me know what songs you have chosen for Relief Society tomorrow. This does not actually require a literal conversation with you - you are just giving me numbers (which, on a side note, are for once songs that we actually know instead of random hymns that no one but you has ever even heard of) which can just as, if not MORE, easily be left on my voice mail. Leaving messages for later retrieval is - GASP - exactly what voice mail is for!

Furthermore, having a telephone does not mean that I am in any way required to answer it, and making snide comments about how I never answer just ensures that, if it's you calling, I never will. You made a big stink just a few weeks ago about how young I really am, and yet you get pissy because I'm not waiting with bated breath for your call at 9:30 on a Saturday night?

Back off, lady. I have the mouth of a sailor and I'm not afraid to use it.

I have a solo in the Messiah this year. I should probably start practicing the part I don't know.

What does it say about me that the only place I truly feel safe is my therapist's office?