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Let me just start off by saying that you’re an amazing mother, and woman who I deeply admire. You raised three boys with (relatively) good results, and you instilled in me a strong sense of morality that will take me far in life. You never spanked me, even when I definitely deserved it, and you continue to offer support and advice to me throughout my life. You’re the best mom anyone could ask for.
However, I have one request. For the love of God, stop leaving me voicemails. I don’t need them, I don’t want them, and frankly, they freak me out. See, modern phones (including the iPhone 6 that you use) have this thing called a missed call list. When you call, my phone leaves me a record that you called, and when you called. Our phones also have the ability to text, which I know you know because you constantly send me emojis. Knowing that you know all this, I cannot understand why you still insist on leaving me a voicemail every time I miss your call. Perhaps if you needed to convey something more complicated than a text would allow, and you wanted to leave me a voice recording of that, I would understand. However, that is not the case. The voicemails are all the same, and they are all unnecessary. For full clarity, let me break down exactly why they are needless with an example of your last voicemail:
Hi sweetie! It’s mom! I tried giving you a call, but you didn’t answer.
Hi Mom. Like I previously stated, the missed call notification really handles all of this information. I know it’s you who called because your contact information has been saved in my phone since my first one in seventh grade. I know I didn’t answer because a) I received a missed call notification and b) I’m currently listening to a voicemail instead of talking to you.
I’m just driving home from work and was hoping to pass the time by hearing about your day!
This is both unnecessary and slightly insulting. Clearly, you were just hoping to use your first-born son as a way to alleviate your boredom. For a second, I thought you actually cared about the child whom you birthed and raised for the past 25 years, but no. I’m just something for you to use to pass the time since you can’t watch Grey’s Anatomy while driving.
Anyway, give me a call back when you get a chance and we can chat.
More excessive information. I know to give you a call back because, as we previously discussed, I received a notification letting me know that you called. I know enough about society to know that people like to be called back when they attempt to contact you.
(408)-324-2290. Talk to you soon!
Mom. I’ve had a cell phone for thirteen years. Your number is saved. It’s always been saved. If you think I’m typing out your number instead of just clicking on your contact, you’re more out of touch than I thought. Even if, for some inexplicable reason, I decided to delete your contact info, I would still know how to reach you because your phone number is the only number I have memorized. I know you know this because you quizzed me on it for three hours before handing me my very first cell phone in middle school.
Aside from these voicemails being mildly annoying (I feel too guilty to delete them without listening, but too lazy to actually listen, so I just have to feel mild panic every time I see that red badge on my screen), they also occasionally scare the shit out of me. Mom, I was born in 1991. If you leave me a voicemail, I’m going to assume something has gone horribly wrong. Receiving a voicemail out of the blue automatically makes me think of an accident, my brothers in the hospital, or perhaps news that you’re cancelling the Netflix account. All equally terrifying. It’s even more terrifying when you call me three times, leave a voicemail, and then text “Call me back. It’s urgent,” only for you to reveal that you just needed to confirm the arrival time for my flight in five weeks. Mom. Not only is that not an emergency, I sent you the confirmation email when I booked the flight! Check your Hotmail for me once in a while.
Thank you for taking the time out of your busy day to read this. I know, deep down, that this isn’t going to change anything. You’re going to keep leaving me voicemails until the end of time, and it’s always going to drive me crazy. I accept that. I’ll give you a call this weekend to gossip about my brothers. .