The State of Affairs

You know all those articles, about how the internet is to blame for a decline in the familial structure and communication? Well, after many years of outright mockery and disdain towards such folk I've been forced to eat my metaphorical hat and accept that these people may have had something of a point.

Lounging around the front room earlier today, each of us pretending to work- I was watching my weekly fix of anime, lying on the floor with my legs propped on the couch (I'm wearing in a new pair of shoes, and oh my good lord they hurt).
And I'm pretty certain Alec flatmate was downloading naughty movies, when the house phone rang.

This is a big deal by the way, and not because we're all total social outcasts with hairy backs, three nipples apiece and missing front teeth cos that's not wholly true- the reason it's a big deal is simply because the house phone is a recent installment; that being so, we've yet to work out an answering protocol.

One ring; we all froze in place- think; rabbits and headlights- as we looked round to see who'd answer it. Silence ascended upon the like a wool blanket.
No movement.

Two rings; I spilt coffee on myself whilst trying to look nonchalant and uncaring. Cue mental swearing.
No noise, no movement.

Three rings; I turned the volume on my headphones up and went back to the anime. More mental swearing, as I realised I could still hear it.
No movement.

Four rings; the msn icon on my laptop jumped- Alec.
>babe, will you just answer that?
I signed out and the tension in the room became palpable; you could have cut it with a knife if you felt so inclined, and were willing to go across the hall and borrow one, of course. We're students, of course we don't own any real culinary equipment.
No movement.

Five rings.
The email icon jumped- Sophie.
>look sweetie, it's probably for you anyway!
I gave her a squinty eyed little sideways look, and closed the message.

Six rings; I developed a nervous twitch in my eye.
No movement- beyond me clapping my hand over it to stop the twitch.

Seven rings; I received a communal email from charmless Gnome flatmate from inside her and Sophie's secret love nest.
>will one of you just answer the fucking phone!
She has such a way with words.

Eight rings; I emailed Sophie flatmate;
>It might be someone about the kitten! What if it's been run over?
She responded with a dirty look of her own, and I noticed him curled up in her lap. The silence continued.

The phone stopped ringing, and I got up to make a fresh round of coffee.
A moment later, my mobile rang.
And rang, and rang.