"I want grandkids"

I got a new cell phone the other day, which gets slightly better reception in my apartment than my old one (today I was at the top of a mountain in rural Maryland and noticed that I had four bars on the phone when at home I max out at two -- doesn't seem quite right). In keeping with my problematic interactions with technology over the last few months (if you don't know, don't ask), the phone could not be programmed the usual way, in which you dial a number and 2 minutes later it's all set. So I found myself calling customer service, sitting on the front steps of my house with old cell phone on the right ear and new cell phone on the left. It took forty-five minutes to get everything in order so that my phone was associated with my new number and working. But even though I was raised in a ritual complaining culture, I actually have no complaints about the guy who helped me -- he was courteous, conscientious, and, best of all, competent. Amazing!

Good daughter that I am, the first people I called on the new phone were my parents. I told them the saga of the phone setup and about how nice my tech support guy had been, doing everything he could to not have to transfer me to the (apparently evil) internet sales department, and chatting with me rather than leaving me hanging in silence.

"Do you think he's Jewish?" my father asked.

I paused, stunned into momentary silence (it happens!), and then replied, "So you think an appropriate partner for me would be a 24-year old Verizon Wireless tech support phone guy living in South Carolina?"

"Maybe he's getting his Ph.D.," said my Dad. (Right. In phone technology.)

And there you have it. My poor Dad, I forget that his biological clock is ticking too, and I think this little exchange officially moves him into the category of "desperate for grandchildren." Ladies, anyone want to hook up in an irresponsible way with my (handsome, charming, and charismatic) brother and take some of the pressure off of me? It would be much appreciated.