"Hello?" she says, as always.
"Yeah, hi, look, can we do this some other time, maybe?"
"Hi. I'm from your service provider, and we would like to ask you a few simple questions. First: what is your name, and how have you found the service?"
I sigh. Can my teenager read? She's clearly below the average intelligence, because even I, at one in the morning and addled with sleep, can point out that my service provider knows my name and the title of the service.
"You're not real smart, are you?" I say.
"I'm sorry, sir, but this will only take a minute."
"My name is Roger," I say, "and I've got to tell you, I find the service a little bit of a bother because I have this teenage girl stalking me. I poured my bag of piss over her head one time and now she just won't leave me alone. Any idea what I should do with her?"
"Hello? Lady? Ma'am? Fuck, I ain't drunk and imagining this again am I?"
"What is it you said you did to teen girls?"
"Well, not teen girls in plural, just this one who's obsessed with me--"
"You're sick!" she screams down the phone. "You're fucking sick! I'm going to report you to the police!"
Then she hangs up on me.
I flip my phone to silent, roll over, and go back to sleep. On the phone in the morning is seven missed calls, all from the same girl. Can you feel the love?