Here comes the beep

Patrick called tonight. The phone stopped ringing and I heard Riley pick up, then a fair amount of time went by before he finally said, "Bailey, I think the phone's for you."

"You think?"
"Yeah..."

I got on the line and on the other end was a quiet, burnt out voice. "Bailey? Is this Bailey?"

"Patrick?"

Instantly out of character, now sheer excitement: "See, you knew who I was! Riley didn't know it was me!"

I told him of course it was him, because he was doing his Milosh voice. "That wasn't my Milosh voice," he corrected me.

By the way, my brother Patrick is 27 years old, and about to be a father any day now. Take that into consideration when you read the following conversation.

"My Milosh voice goes like this: [a demonstration, 'Hi, I'm Milosh.']" He performed his demonstration in a slightly different Eastern European accent than the first. Pardon me for not being able to distinguish.

Whenever Patrick calls, it's for one of three reasons.

1. To tell me he just caught a possum. Again. (He has captured many possums.)

2. To tell me about the piece of rock he just climbed, using numbers such as "a seven" or "a ten," never bothering to explain what these numbers mean. All I know is I am supposed to be impressed, unless he just went climbing with Riley, in which case he is usually upset because he thinks Riley is a better climber than him.

3. If I don't answer the phone to hear about his latest marsupial or climbing adventure, then he switches to an accent--usually reminiscent of Napoleon Dynamite or as his alter-ego Milosh--and leaves a ridiculous message. This weekend he got the machine and pretended to be our brother Kelly. "This is Kelly, I'm just calling to say I smell bad, and that you should give Patrick $50 every month."

One more day in my life without a cell phone. More proof to you that life certainly does exist without a cell phone. In fact life is abundant on my answering machine. Give me a call sometime, add to the recording collection.