There’s something people do to me—maybe three times out of the year—that really gets under my skin.
It usually happens on a happy, carefree day (because, why ruin a day that’s already messed up?). I’ll be skipping along and bling! BUZZ-BUZZ, my phone goes off.
Who could that be? I wonder.
Is it good news? Bad news? An emoji-fight challenge?
Then it happens. I open up the phone, and I don’t recognize the number.
