Open Letter to whoever had my cell number last

Dear Kelly,

Why the fuck did you give out my number? Whether it was your number before means nothing to me. Especially now that I receive your phone calls.

“Kelly?” they ask.
“You have the wrong number.” I say.
“Is Kelly there?”

Kelly, are you just lazy? Or are all your friends a bunch of fucking morons? I mean, really. They call the number time and time again. Sometimes two times in a row and are still surprised by the result.

Are your friends stupid, Kelly?

I get calls from bill collectors. From friends. Well, I can only assume they are bill collectors or friends. I don’t stop to take a message, but maybe I should. Maybe I should start to take a message and start compiling a file on who the fuck you are. And then maybe I can find you, kick your ass and tell you to tell all your idiot friends to change the number they keep calling. It’s mine now, Kelly.

I know it’s hard to let go. But come on. I’ve received your calls now for nearly two years and your idiot acquaintances are still calling.

“Is Kelly there?”
“Kelly?”
“Hey, it’s me...uh, is this Kelly?”

GFY, Kelly. GFY.

-30-