Intercoms Are Awesome

You may not know how much fun an intercom can provide. That might be because you don't have one.

For those of you who don't already know, Chris and I currently rent the upstairs of my dad's house from him. (Though we just bought a house and are closing in May! Yippee!)
But in the meantime, we are here. My father, love him to death, is the most deaf human being on the face of the planet. Years of working on construction sites as an electrician will do that to you I suppose. He refuses to wear a hearing aid and speaks at a ridiculously loud volume.

Today I come home and see a little gray box plugged in on the counter in the kitchen. I click the button. "Testing?" My father responds that he got this for when my Uncle Michael moves in. (More on good news, once I move out, my Uncle is moving in. He lives alone in the town over and my cousins and I are all completely thrilled that our single dads will be living together so we can worry about them less...). Anyhow, my dad claims this way he won't have to bother my Uncle if he gets a phone call or needs him. He can just intercom on up. There is a locked door dividing the up and downstairs. For the most part we just leave it opened, but good to know it is there!
So I click it again. "Luuuuuke.....I am your faaaather." I probably said that about 12 times before my dad told me to knock it off. I walk away from the little gray box.

Check some email. Do some stuff for work. But I see it...taunting me... just sitting there, out of the corner of my eye. I creep back over to it. "WEEEEEEEEEE!!!" I squeal in a ridiculously high pitched voice. My dad responds asking if I need something. "No, I'm fine." Back to work. Two minutes pass, max. I wonder what other high pitched annoying sounds I can make. I wonder what it will sound like. I creep over again. "YIIIPPPPPEEEEEEEEEE!!" My dad tells me to knock it off. "Saawwreeee" I lament.

Write a few words. Tap tap tap my pen. Write a few more words. Tap again. I feel a bead of sweat or two form on my forehead. I charge from the table to the beautiful gray box and completely freak out, Tourette's style, making all sorts of ridiculous sounds and noises and words and songs and OH MY GOD I LOVE THIS THING!!!

I wait. Hmmm. No response. I go downstairs. There's my father, wearing the headphones we bought him for Xmas, as he tends to listen to the TV at a ridiculous volume. Looks like they work for drowning out crazy daughters as well. Why do I get the feeling that the little gray box will be removed from my kitchen by tomorrow....