Way to go, guy. You've given a new meaning to the term "mobile communication" with your magical ability to pocket dial me at any and all times of the day. I'll be at my desk or sitting on my bed, then I'll think of you and ring ring, just like magic, it's you! But, it's not actually you on the other end of the line. "Hello? Hello? HELLO?," I shout like a crazy woman on a street.
I check the phone again to see if I somehow imagined my phone ringing, but it's definitely you calling me--my caller ID told me that--but it's choppy and static and you're talking to someone else or, more strangely, grumbling about traffic and listening to Iron Maiden completely oblivious that I'm on the other end of the line. "Oh man," I realize, "I've just been pocket dialed. Again."
This has become a regular thing with you. Do you remember that time you called me at 4:13am and I called you back and no one answered? Then, remember how I panicked because I thought there was an emergency? And remember how it turned out that it was just your cat being a creep-a-leep and pawing your BlackBerry while you were asleep? It's like your phone really likes dialing my number.
It's a good thing I like you so much because it's not normal to receive mystery voicemails with you breathing into your phone like Darth Vader or messages that could double for a Clap Your Hands Say Yeah b-side song played underwater. Your pocket dial is like I just got an oral report about what it's like to be a dime in your pocket. Lock your keypad, darlin'. It's best for all involved.