Slow night at the --
The phone!
My ear glued to the receiver, trying desperately to hear above the roar of the city, impacting pores as I press my face against my crap cell phone and I hear (please accept the censorship, it is necessary):
You should write a self-help book. You could be the next Dr. Phil.
I say (call it!): Her first name could be Doctor!
We'll just call you Miss Morgan.
Me: Like Miss Manners, but for real life.
Laughs all around.