Jealousy is a very silly thing, and pushes people to do strange things. I remember a story that happened 10 years ago when I still had a home phone.

The morning, at 9 o’clock. I sleep. The call. I wake up and answer. I have to say that I am a convinced sheep, and I am stupid. Then there was a strange conversation.

and allo.

A second shocked silence in the telephone, then a wicked female voice:

You are who? ! to

She is Diana.

What are you doing at my house? ! to In the anger of the grandmother.

I look back in amazement, convinced that I am exactly at home. Gradually comes: the man did not get there. I’m going to say, “You’ve got the wrong number,” but I’m not going.

Where is the husband? The cry of the lady.

In the shower, I automatically answer.

Because my husband was actually in the shower at the time.

The grandmother begins to shout in the sense that she will come and find out my shameless eyes, break my terrible cheek and tear off my curved legs. I throw the phone. I am not a messiah forced to educate. I go back to bed, I instantly fall asleep... The phone call. I go back and pick up the phone again.

Are you still here, shit? The same grandmother.

You see, it was stupid to repeat the call. My brain couldn’t check where I was calling. Adrenaline was disturbing. And again threatens my crooked legs and scary cheeks. I even felt a sense of sympathy. Probably, the lady was somewhere on vacation or on a business trip, called her husband in the morning, and he is in the shower, and Diana answers someone.

I manage to interrupt the stream of her threats with a loud cry:

What number are you calling?

What is? The grandmother appears.

What number are you calling?

Grandma calls the number, it does not coincide with my one number.

Wrong the number! I scream at the phone and call my own.

Do you think she calmed down, got to her? by Her.

“It’s strange,” he said in a suspicious tone. I could not be wrong. So what are you doing at my house?

Then I exploded and shouted:

Fuck your husband! I will marry him at all! Because you’re in bed, he said. Go to Fuck. And you know what? Your feet are wrong!

I throw the phone. A man looks out of the bathroom and asks:

Who are you fucking with?

With all of you, fucking. I rise.

I turn off my phone and go to bed.

I don’t know if the psychic condition allowed Babie to check the number she picked up. Maybe my fucking husband has arrived.

The man! If you’re reading this, I’m sorry, of course, but it’s your wife’s fault: let me call you at 9 p.m. Do not call before morning. You are married psychically.)