My parents are in the process of decluttering their lives and have been busily sifting through the roomfuls of stuff they’ve accumulated through the years. For the past few weeks, then, my dad has been calling and asking about various items before moving them into the appropriate keep/trash/donate piles. Our conversations have typically gone like this:
Me: [stepping out of a business meeting at work to answer my phone] Hello?
My dad: We just found your third-place bowling trophy from junior high. Do you want us to keep it?
My dad: Okay. We’ll give it to Goodwill.
Me: Why would anyone want an old bowling trophy with my name on it?
My dad: Oh, you’d be surprised, haha.
My dad: What about this newspaper with the story about that time your class visited the fire station? Do you want it?
Me: From kindergarten? No.
My dad: Just the clipping, then?
Me: Dad. No.
My dad: Okay, we’ll hang onto it just in case you change your mind later.
And so it’s gone, which is why I didn’t think twice about taking his call while waiting for a team presentation to start yesterday. I figured I could discretely answer the phone, tell him “No” a few times, then hang up before anyone even noticed. Instead, this is how it played out:
Me: [whispering] Hello?
My dad: I just found a pile of old magazines. Do you want them?
Me: [still whispering] No.
My dad: It includes a bunch of nudie mags from the early 80s.
My dad: You know, the ones you and your friends stashed in the upper cabinets of the garage when you were kids? I don’t know how many times I found your footprints on top of the workbench out there, haha.
Me: [rummages through the archives of my brain to determine the validity of this seemingly absurd allegation]
Me: [no longer whispering] Oh. Snap.
Entire Team: [audibly gasps because they probably misheard the way I pronounced the word “Snap”]
Me: I’ll call you back.
So, yeah, busted because I forgot to delete my browser history back in 1983. Still waiting to see if I’m grounded.