Sorry... Wrong Number

Late one Friday night, I was awakened by the ringing of my phone.
In a sleepy grumpy voice I said, "Hello."

The party on the other end of the line paused for a moment before
rushing breathlessly into a lengthy speech.

"OK... Mom, this is Marsha and I'm sorry I woke you up, but I had
to call because I'm going to be a little late getting home.  See,
Daddy's car has a flat but it's not my fault. Really! I don't
know what happened. The tire just went flat while John and I were
inside the theater.  Please don't be mad, okay?"

Since I don't have any daughters, I knew the person had misdialed.

"I'm sorry dear, "I replied, "but you've reached the wrong number.

I don't have a daughter named Marsha."

"Come on, Mom," pleaded the young woman's voice, "I didn't think
you'd be this mad."