Contacts

    “How many contacts do you have in your phone.” I asked, chilling out on the couch.

     “What?” Tony half asked putting the food on the coffee table.

     “I was just looking at all the people I have in my phone. I realized half the numbers or emails are wrong.”

     “Damn.  I don’t know.  I don’t even think about it.  I text Karen, Amber, you, and the kids.  That’s about it.  Everything else is work related and the work stuff is emails and extensions.  If I really had to guess I’d say about fifty.”

     “Oh,” I half said to myself.

     “Why?  How many do you have?”

     “Five or six ... hundred”

     “Really?  Why do you need five or six hundred contacts?” He asked almost choking on his nachos.

     “I’m trying to figure that out myself.  In my defense I asked one of the girls in my office how many contacts she had and it was somewhere near a thousand.”

     “One thousand contacts? Is she a drug dealer or something?” Tony asked, laughing.

     “I know, right?”

     “But five hundred,” he said finally sitting in his chair, “that’s a hell of a lot, too.”

     “Some of it’s old music contacts.  Some of it’s old hook ups.  I have to agree: five hundred is too many contacts.  I tried to narrow it down a few years ago.  Sent out a text that said: ‘Hi you might remember me from (wherever).  Cleaning up numbers in my phone.  Is this the phone of insert-name-here?  If not let me know and I will remove it.  Thank you.’ ”

     “How’d that work out?” he asked.

     “I think I sent out about 65 texts ...”

     “Jesus, 65?” he interrupted.

     “Remember the woman in my office said over thousand” I said, attempting to justify.  “I got about 35 replies.  Not horrible.”

     “Did you delete the others?”

     He could tell by my silence and cringe expression that the answer was no.

     “How about the old hook ups?  Did you delete them?”

     “You know, they were interested at one point.  I figured I would keep them just in case they ... ”  I realized my delusion as the words left my mouth.  “I don’t know.  Maybe it’s just wishful thinking.”

    “How do you know the hook ups?” He asked, pulling a long chain of cheese and chicken nachos off of the pile.

     “I put little check marks next to their names.”

     “A ranking system?”

     “No.”  My nacho chain was nothing to brag about.  “Just a fond reminder of who to remember.”

     “As long as that list isn’t five hundred people long you should be ok.”

     “You know, Tony, I’ve been single for a long time but I have to agree: the thought of five hundred hookups is too many for me.”