There has been a recent spate of phone ringing at the household of Eliza and Mr. Manners.

An annoying spate of early morning phone ringing.

Now, everyone knows I have a love/hate relationship with the phone, at best. I hate to hear it ring. The phone is the tool of evil. It very rarely brings good news. It very rarely carries the voice of anyone I want to speak to. It often inspires me to be quite rude ("No, ma'am, I do not wish to donate any funds to the fireman's fund of south Fulton County. I live in Milton. Oh, you've never heard of that? I'm sorry.). If it rings very late, or very early, it is usually the harbinger of ill health or death, or both.

If the phone rings several times in quick succession, that is the normal symbol in the family for "danger, Will Robinson! Danger!".

It is not the symbol for some high asshole to leave messages on my voicemail that are incoherent and make no sense.

You know who you are. This is your final warning.

Stop. It. Right. Now.