Call me maybe?

"So we've gone over our minutes on the Verizon plan for the past few months now," my mom informed me a couple of weeks ago during one of our nightly telephone calls.

"I saw that! Who is talking so much?" I replied indignantly. "Probably Ben."

Always blame the youngest.

"No, it's actually your number."

Oh.

"That's so weird. I'm hardly ever on the phone," I retorted, choosing to not recall more than a handful of late night life chats with faraway friends, lengthy discussions regarding tumultuous love lives, and Ben and my daily calls. "I don't understand how it could be me."

via

"Jenna, you call us every single day."

"You're my parents! I need to talk to you every day! Aren't you happy about that?"

"Wrap it up, Wendy!" I could hear my dad shouting in the background. "Stop wasting more minutes!"

"I'm your only daughter!" I exclaimed.

"Gotta go. Seriously. Stop talking so much on the phone," my own mother simply replied, hanging up.

Ouch.