The Flat Tire

            Late one Saturday evening, I was awakened by the ringing of my phone.  In a sleepy grumpy voice I said hello. The party on the other end of the line 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 dialed my number by mistake.

         "I'm sorry dear," I replied, "but you've reached the wrong number.  I don't have a daughter named Susan."

         "Gosh, Mom,"  the young woman's voice replied,  "I didn't think you'd be this mad."