I was in the taxi, when my handphone rang. Some random phone number. Oh well, picked it up. Was promptly greeted by a little boy's voice, asking "Daddy, when are you coming home?"
Eep!
Time to go all "Billie Jean" - high Jackson screech and all - "The kid is not my son!"
I hate wrong numbers.
All boy boy wanted to do was to talk to his daddy, and you brush him off! Why are you so heartless?
You don't want to talk to me, never mind, but to pretend you are not his father, that's just cold!
... oh, wait. Sorry. Wrong blog.
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