HIPPO BRIGADE

Leave a Message and I’ll Call You Back

When you call my phone, a small-boned, 12 year-old, pre-pubescent, and sexually confused boy leaves the outgoing message. He’s all, “Hi! You’ve reached Beckey’s cell. I’m not here right now, but leave a message and I’ll call you right back!”

But Beckey, you don’t know any 12 year-old, pre-pubescent, and sexually confused boys.

Damn. You’re right.

Alright fine, it’s not a 12 year-old boy. It’s me.

I should really change it. But the thing is, I never ever ever hear it.

But I know it’s there, lurking on my phone and embarrassing me behind my back.

And I always send people to voicemail. Because I’m a bitch like that.

It’s like I’m inviting them to make fun of me.

It’s like I’m saying, “Hey, wanna hear something strange and a little disturbing, and it might make you look at me weird from now on? Then don’t hang up because here it comes, BAM!”

And then they hear my voice, and they think, Wait, who did I call? Is Beckey doing some strange impersonation? If so, I don’t get it. Why am I friends with her again? This chick’s lame. I’m gonna call someone way more awesomer. And then you hang up. and never ever talk to me again.

Rats.

I’m loosing friends.

But, I’m waiting for the right time to change it.

I’m waiting for laryngitis. I want to get all raspy first. But the thing about laryngitis is I’ll be too busy laying around hacking up mucus balls and watching daytime court-TV that I’ll forget to change my outgoing message.

Honestly I’m just waiting for a robot to do it.

“Hel-lo. This. Is. Bec-key.”

Who leaves voicemails anyways?

Apart from your mom?

Just text me, and we can avoid this whole embarrassing situation.

UPDATE:

I now have a robot on my outgoing message. His name is Fred and he says beep bop boop. You’re free to call me now.

You can thank me when you leave a message.