Don't Shoot the Messenger

I had just finished up a delicious meal of well-spiced tilapia (my favorite kind of fish -- BONUS: it's cheap, too!) and I was settling in to watch Dragonheart when my phone rang with an unfamiliar 801 number. I answered it and heard, "Lynnae, this is ______! I have a giant favor to ask you! See, I'm up at this leadership training thing at a resort and I don't have cell phone service, so could you give my girlfriend a message for me..."

Now before you ask how in the heck he managed to call me and not her, I'll tell you: he was calling from a land line that could only make local calls. I just happen to have an 801 number and his girlfriend doesn't. So I got the exciting job of taking down the number he was calling from, when he was available, as well as conveying some slightly cheesy and adorable expressions of his feelings for her.

Then I had to go deliver said message. I really honestly couldn't tell you who was more embarrassed by the circumstance. Here I was, essentially spilling out words of love and thoughtfulness to another girl, and she had to receive them, knowing that someone else now knew how her boyfriend feels about her. She was a good sport about it, though, and I was laughing too hard on the inside to really care.

He then called back a little while later to tell me to tell her that he'd be available at a different time than he'd originally told me to tell her. As I was trying to take down the information, I suddenly had a brilliant plan: why not just jaunt over to her apartment, hand her my phone, and spare myself the need of hearing all of the oozing sweetness again? So I did. I walked in and said, "There's someone on my phone for you," with my best tone of irony and amusement (not hard, since I was, in fact, thoroughly amused). She blushed flame red and took the phone from my hands while I proceeded to sit and talk to her roommates until she was done.

THEN! An hour or so later, there comes a timid knock on the door and she's standing on my doorstep -- blushing furiously -- asking if I still had the number he'd told me to tell her (which I did tell her) because she'd lost the paper. Luckily for her, I did. So I gave it to her and she left, still blushing.

I'm so tempted to ask her how things are going and how the talk was, but that might be slightly cruel of me, considering how much she blushed yesterday.

But really, was I the only person with an 801 number that he could call? I've never really been super close to him (although his roommate is one of my best friends) and we've never been in the habit of doing favors for each other before. Oh, and  his "payment" in return for me doing this huge favor for him? "Thanks, Lynnae, you're the best. I owe you a high five."

Really?

A high five? Luckily for me, the pleasure derived from the whole thing more than paid for itself. Otherwise, I think I'd demand at least a cookie.

And I suppose my title is misleading. I did not get shot. Had shooting occurred, I highly doubt any of it would have been directed at me.