Every time the phone rings, I scream.
I feel like a Pavlovian dog. I’ve been conditioned the last couple weeks to involuntarily react to outside stimulus in the form of political robocalls.
My home, my mind and, seemingly, my soul have been invaded by this scourge which we falsely believe will disappear Wednesday.
But, like the “Creeping Charlie” I recently drowned with herbicide in my yard, this weed will only go dormant until the next election cycle when it will most assuredly resurface.