Once, many years ago, I was catching a flight out of Salt Lake City when I discovered that the Osmond Brothers were going to be on my plane.
So, we’re all sitting around the gate (me, the Osmonds, the other passengers), waiting to board. Suddenly, one of the Osmond Brothers jumps up and heads to a bank of pay phones (this was in the days before cell phones). The Osmond Brother picks up a receiver, then, cradling it with one shoulder and dropping in a dime, he yells to another of the Osmond Brothers, “Hey, what’s Marie’s phone number?”
My ears perk up, but I don’t have a pen on me. Not that I have any particular reason to call her, but wouldn’t it be cool to have Marie Osmond’s phone number just so you could say you have Marie Osmond’s phone number?
Okay, maybe not that cool.
