Yesterday afternoon the phone rang. It does this from time to time.
I have a nine-year-old daughter who lives in desperate hope that the ringing phone will signal an hour-long conversation about, as far as I can tell, absolutely nothing. Despite my shout of "I got it!", she picked it up.
And then handed it to me with a very confused look on her face.*
It was a gentleman, with questionable English skills, wondering if I would be so kind as to participate in a "market research study". Without so much as taking a breath, he wondered if the male registered voter in the household was available. Unfortunately, he was not.
Not to be deterred, however, the gentleman asked if I was a registered voter.
And I am. Lucky me.
Before I could express my disinterest in participating in his study, he went on to ask if anyone in my household or immediate family worked for any sort of media outlet.
After sighing in resignation that I was, in fact, about to participate in the study, I told him no.
Then he asked the question that saved my afternoon: "Are you a blogger, or do you frequently comment on blogs?"
Why, yes. Yes, I am.
And he thanked me for my time but regretted to inform me that I did not qualify to participate in the study.
Ah, yes, I like this blogging thing.
*Vicki informs me that he asked if she was 18 or older. Why does that suddenly creep me out?