Late one Saturday evening, I was awakened by the ringing of my Late phone. In a sleepy, grumpy voice, I said hello. The party on the other end paused for a moment before rushing breathlessly into a lengthy speech. "Mom, this is Susan, and I'm sorry I woke you up, but I had to call because I'm going to be a little late getting home. See, Dad's car has a flat, but it's not my fault. Honest! I don't know what happened. The tire just went flat while we were inside the theater. Please don't be mad, okay?"
Since I don't have any daughters, I knew the person had misdialed. "I'm sorry, dear," I replied, "but you've reached the wrong number. I don't have a daughter named Susan."
"Gosh, Mom," came the young woman's voice, "I didn't think you'd be this mad."