Paging Mr. Bell...Mr. Alexander Graham Bell!

Who the Hell invented the telephone anyway? Without a doubt, at the time of its invention, this device was a real object of wonderment. It wowed the public the world over and opened new avenues of communication never before thought possible. I mean, think of the things you can do with the telephone. Personally, I have used it to save myself from making dinner (by ordering a pizza), check on the whereabouts of my children, dial 911, conduct long-distance relationships, and orchestrate cab rides home when our designated driver plan bit the dust, just to name a few. But right about now, I would really like to have a few words with Mr. Alexander Graham Bell. The telephone has become my nemesis.

Here's the problem...

You recall that I went on this great date on Friday. He was wonderful and we had a super good time, including some nice PDA and making out. As we parted ways, I was invited to call him Sunday night when I got back into town after making the trek down to see my dad for Father's Day.

So after getting home Sunday at 4:30 p.m., I took care of a few household things that needed to be done and putzed around the house until about 7 p.m. - the time I had deemed appropriate for making this all-important phone call. Need I mention that I really wanted to call him at least once every hour since I last saw him?

Yeah, anyway, the clock struck 7 p.m., and I called. He did not answer. I didn't leave a message. Since I called his cell, I knew he either saw it was me or would see that he missed my call. It was Father's Day, after all, and I could come up with a dozen or so reasons why he couldn't talk at the time. So I began looking forward to his return call. Which never came.

So I called him yesterday at about 10:30 a.m. (the time he usually calls me - thinking this was most likely a good time for him to talk). He answered (yay!) and we had a fairly awesome conversation. He was excited I called and explained the previous night's phone melee. No big deal. So we talked for a little while - until he had to go because he was actually in a client meeting when he took my call (yay! again). Said he would call me later on that day so we could have some more time to talk, and re-emphasized that he was really glad I called. Ahhhhh - I love the telephone. It allows me to hear his voice and converse with him even though I can't see him.

If only the glory had lasted a little longer. Because he didn't call me back. Didn't. Call. Me. Back. I suppose there are reasons why this is okay. I know people are busy. I know he was at work. I also mentioned that it was my oldest child's birthday yesterday and that we had a baseball game. So, okay. I get it. But this is starting to remind me of the, oh I dunno, the approximately four million times in high school when a guy was supposed to call and Didn't. Call. Me. Back.

And thus, I hate the telephone and completely rue the day of its creation.

So the question of the day is: At what point is it okay to launch into full panic mode? Because I think I'm almost there.