Wrong Number….Again.

There’s this guy who has my number.  Unfortunately for him, he has the wrong number.

One year and one month ago I got this text:

Wrong number:  Yo, Brett, Dude….Fantasy Football this year?  Pick your teams.

Me: Yo, Dude, Who’s Brett? And why is he fantasizing about football? Is that what guys fantasize   about nowadays?

Wrong number:  ROFL  Who is this?

Me:  Not Brett. And my fantasies don’t really involve playing any kind of football. I might break a hip.

Wrong number:  LOL . Sorry!  This was my friend Brett’s number.

Me:  No worries, Dude.  Good luck with the FF.

Wrong number:  LOL

One Year Later (for those of us not good at math, like me, last month):

Wrong number:  Hey you still up for fantasy football?

Me:  I’m the wrong number you texted last year.  And I haven’t learned a thing about FF since we last spoke.  And I’m still old enough to break a hip and never recover.

Wrong number:  LMAO.  No problem.

Me:  Maybe next year.

Wrong number:  Who is this lol

Me:  I’m Chicken!   We do not know each other, though.  Unless Kevin Bacon is somehow involved.

Wrong number:  LMAO haha idk why I have you saved under my buddy Brett’s number.

Me:  Yup.  Brett. That’s the one.  I don’t know him either.  Good luck with your league, though. Really, it’s lucky for you I’m not playing.  I’d probably win ALL the fantasies about footballs, and everyone would be mad that you let the wrong number lady play.

Wrong number:  LOL Good luck in life. (Do I sense nervousness here?)

Me:  Thank you, Dude.  You too.  Same time next year?

Wrong number:  lol. Thanks.

You know what I like about this guy?  He’s polite, consistent and he doesn’t give up on his friends.  You know what is really ironic about this situation?  Not many people are named Brett, but my girls happened to grow up with one, so I can’t help but wonder if the Brett my kids grew up with is the one degree of separation between Wrong Number and me.

It’s a small world, isn’t it?  Some day, I’ll be somewhere, maybe Sports Authority, for instance, on a Tuesday night at 8 pm, and I’ll hear this young store clerk talking to another clerk about a strange chick he keeps texting by mistake every year about Fantasy Football.  He’ll mention how, at first, it was really funny, but this year she invited him to Thanksgiving with her and her family, which was really, like, creepy,  you know? And of course, he said no, but thanks anyway, lol, and now he’s afraid she might be stalking him because he keeps getting this feeling like he’s being watched.

Like I would ever stalk somebody.  Not that I will be ignored, either.

Chicken out.

Credit: Associated Press