I just found out from my dad that our (family plan) cell phone bill was obscenely high last month, thanks to me and my sister. Obviously I am taking responsibility for my cellphone use, but I’d appreciate help from people who call me (since I’m charged for incoming calls too) in the following way: Please, if you are trying to reach me after 4 PM, call my room phone first (the 5-digit Stanford version is 7-5284, and I hope you can figure out the rest because I don’t like posting it in a public post; alternatively, you can ask me for it).
I guess that’s all there is for that…
On another note, here’s an excerpt from a newspaper column that my mother sent to me, which I find describes me rather well:
“I wonder if many of the women surveyed share my dirty little secret: A small part of me still yearns to see my reflection in my polished household appliances. I suppose one way to view this is as a retro remnant of domestic oppression. But I prefer to see it as cheap therapy… it is comforting to find refuge from chaos in a house that is tidy, gleaming, and redolent of lemon Pledge. I am a member of the generation of daughters who were taken aside by our mothers and told, in no uncertain terms, that grimy bathroom tiles – even in that little-seen area behind the base of the toilet – are utterly unacceptable…. We spring clean to find a sense of serenity… ”
(Sue Hutchinson, “Taking control, one dust bunny at a time”, San Jose Mercury News, 3.27.05).
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