Last night at a party a girl (whose name I don’t know) met a boy called Brett. I think they must have hit it off well because numbers were exchanged. I know this because this morning a girl called me a few times wanting to know who I was and why I was not Brett.

Brett, either you accidentally write down some wrong digits, or you deliberately gave her a flase number. If the latter is true, then please don’t do it again. Be a man. Tell a girl plainly that you’re not interested in giving her your phone number. She’s a woman, not a doll. She can take it.

And to this girl who called me, I could tell after the second time you called that you were upset, but please remember that it’s more polite to tell someone that you have called who you are rather than demanding them to tell you who they are and why their number is stored on your phone, especially when you call at 745am on a Sunday morning.

And on behalf of men everywhere, I apologise for Brett being such a dickwad. He doesn’t deserve your anguish.