If you do (and I assume you do because you’re reading this), by all that is holy, please don’t call me.

And for the LOVE of heaven, if you must call me, please don’t leave me a voice mail.

I have a phone phobia. Have I ever mentioned? I do. People wonder why I’m such a textingTweetingFacebooking whirlwind. I don’t like communicating by phone.  This is how the AntiRat knows my deep love for him — I lived on the phone with him while we were long-distance law students.

I hate the phone (and sharks and fireworks, but no one really tries to send me sharks or fireworks). Please please please don’t subject me to telephone communications.  Please text me or email me or show up at my door and tattoo the message on my forehead. You could even email me, even though that’s sort of 2007.

It’s a long story how I arrived at this phobia. It was something to do, I think, with maxed out credit cards and a mother who has none too pleased… (Hi Mommy! xoxoxo!) and maybe a little bit to do with some unreturned library books to my undergraduate university.

So although I rightly deserve this phobia, take pity on me and shoot me a text.