Wrong number

My first apartment was in Fort Sanders in the student slums of Knoxville. Along with my first digs, I got my first very own phone number. Only, of course, someone else had had that phone number before me. Her name was Michelle and a lot of people called for her. In fact, it's only just occurred to me that maybe Michelle was in the habit of giving out my phone number. Who knows?

Anyway, she got around. And when I say she got around, I mean, I think she had a lot of boyfriends. Boyfriends she didn't treat very well. Boyfriends who had greater depth of feeling for her than she did for them. They sounded pretty desperate and heartbroken anyway.

Oh, did I mention that apparently I sounded a lot like Michelle? I sounded so much like Michelle that some of those young men didn't believe me when I informed them that I wasn't Michelle. I had to hang up on several poor fellows.

Time moves on and there are new methods of communication, but there are still wrong numbers. Misdirected messages. Crossed wires.

The reason that I mention this is that Girl from the South gets other people's emails. And it's pretty funny or pretty tragic depending on whose misdirected messages come her way.