Lest you think I'm practical: I don't smoke but I want this ashtray by Yoshitomo Nara. Super-cute. It's $50. I suppose it could be a finger bowl for rose water or some such. *OK - that was really sarcastic -- did you catch it? I thought you might. Anyway. Hmm. Want. It.
Bought a house nearly 3 years ago, and had a phone installed, like you do.
Ever since then, we have been getting wrong numbers for Craig. Now, the wrong numbers have been predominantly female of a downmarket stripe, if you know what I mean: several varieties of trashy. You have to imagine strung-out, breathy female voices asking for Craig in the way you'd imagine they sweet-talk their pimp.
Now for three years I've been thinking these were booty calls. No. Tonight a woman called and let the cat out of the bag. Here's her message:
Hey Craig. I know it's been a long time. I guess this number is
a California number. Anyway, I wanted to see you and I have some friends
who wanted to buy, some, uh....
*grand pause---wait for it!*
uh.... uh.... Shoes. So, uh, give me
So, there you have it: he was a shoe salesman. It's so odd to me that these 3 years I've been thinking these were booty calls, when this one seems like a drug call. Maybe Craig is in jail.