Shaking my head in Colton's direction.

I've mentioned before how a woman named Brenda used to own my phone number... or, thinks that my number is hers. This particular number has belonged to me for over a year now, and while I don't get as many calls for Brenda as I used to, they do still come a few times a month.

As of Saturday, I have also received a disproportionate amount of calls for a new Brenda! New Brenda's name seems to be Colton - which I didn't realize even was a name, but who am I to argue. 

I have an extensive call-log from Saturday night, all from the same number, all for Colton. I was out at the Frex with Ben, trying to enjoy an overpriced evening of getting sick from rides and looking at farm animals and being won a stuffed fish. The drunk (?) teenage (?) girl on the other end of the line dialed my number six (6!) times. The first time, I answered, told her she must have the wrong number. The second time, I ignored the call, and was left a rambling message about how much she missed me... er, Colton. I've never understood that one, since my voice mail tells you that you've called a squeaky voiced woman named Marg (or Meerg), yet people often just blithely ignore that. After the voice mail, she called again, I ignored... she called again a few minutes later- I answered, shouted "Wrong Number!" and hung up. Two minutes went by - another call! I ignored that, then about twenty minutes later, she tried again. 

Me: You have the wrong number, quit calling me!

Girl: Is Colton there?

Me: No, listen, wrong number. 

Girl: This is Colton's number, I got it from indistinguishable name, so I know it's right. 

Me: But it's not. Don't call it again. 

Luckily, after making that particular oh-my-god-you-are-such-an-idiot-and-you're-ruining-my-life-you-pathetic-person sigh that only teenage girls are capable of making, she stopped calling. Today however, I got two calls from unknown numbers looking for Mr. Popular, Colton!  Both callers sounded like teenage boys.

I imagine that Colton is in fact, pretty popular. His parents wanted desperately for him to be an extra special snowflake, which is why in the mid-nineties they chose to combine the names Colby and Carlton when Christening their bundle of joy. And now he is too busy having arms too long for his body to remember his cellphone number correctly. In this failure, he is ruining the sleepovers of girls a year below him in school where all they really wanted to do was drink the coolers that their older sisters got them and call Colton and ask him if he thinks Madison is cute. 

And he's crushing Brodie's dream that this year, in Grade Ten, they'll finally hangout and with Colton's help, the rest of the wrestling team will stop throwing their jock straps on him. 

They won't stop doing that, not now that Colton has given out the wrong number. There are consequences to your actions, young man.