Because Mike and Brett are boneheads, I confiscated both of their iPods promtly after they got them, lowered the volume level, and then set a four-digit-passcode on it to prevent them from blowing out their eardrums. They both occasionally ask if I'll raise the limit on them, and despite my adamant refusals, they don't seem detered. Tonight at dinner Michael asked me what the code was, because he'd tried my anniversary, my birthday, and his birthday and none of them worked.
"I tell you what Mike, if you guess it you can blast your questionable taste in music as loudly as you'd like."
Naturally, Brett perks up and joins in. "Score!" he says. "Can you give us a hint?"
"I'll tell you this much. It's not a birthday or an anniversary, and it's not a random number."
All throughout dinner, they continued to pepper me with questions, looking for clues.
"Is it your age and Curt's age?"
"Is it the day you and Curt met?"
"Brett, I'm not even sure what the date was when I met Curt."
"Jeez, we'll you'd better hope he doesn't either or that could get ugly."
"Is it the first four digits of our phone number?"
"Is it the numbers in our address?"
"Not even warm."
He looks stymied as we clear the table. "I've got it!" He says. "It's the number of times you predicted Michael and I would ask you what the code is!"