is Wall Street Journal reporter Phil Kuntz.
I can't believe that name is real.
Especially in that context.
But it is.
I was supposed to go to a dance recital this evening, it's been on my calendar for many weeks, but it's too late now to get washed and dressed and out the door. Phooey.
I found a message on my phone late this afternoon from a friend with whom I haven't talked in a while. We've lately had a prickly relationship, but she had called to invite me to go to dinner then dancing with her this evening. I was going to have to turn her down, because of the recital, but given that she might be a bit sensitive about being turned down I thought about it a while before I called her.
As it turned out, she'd changed her mind because she was tired from other events of her day, so I didn't have to say anything. Which is just as well because I really don't want to start ramming around with her again anyway, and I might otherwise have had to invite her to my thing.
She was in a good mood, so I let her talk. We were on the phone for over an hour and a half. Didn't feel that long at the time, and I wasn't watching the clock. And so now it's too late for me to do my thing.
Oh well. Shrug. Now I'm tired, too, so I guess it's ok. May have dodged a bullet, so it might be worth it. I just wish there was something worthwhile on TV.