You've Got Text

A sweet, charming and funny feel good story with a happy ending. NO! Not that type of happy ending. Get your minds out of the gutter.

The text I received in the middle of the night was not from anyone I knew. Startled, I became momentarily mad at myself for forgetting to mute my ringer, mainly because I was in the middle of a good dream and my wife goes ballistic when being awoken by what she calls “my stupid-ass friends who need to grow up.” I was too dopey to realize I replied to a wrong number, not only with niceties, but with a smiley emoji, then turned over onto my side hoping to finish the dream, which of course, never happens, but I tried nonetheless.

The next day, I went about my business forgetting about that text until I received another one. I was awake this time to realize I didn’t recognize the number, so I texted back asking who it was? It came back saying it was from Shari; she was sorry for texting in the middle of the night. She just wanted to tell me she missed me. Who is Shari, I wondered? OK. I’ll play along texting back I missed her too. She replied with a red heart and a TTYL. A few minutes later another text arrived from her telling me her boyfriend left her and asked if we could meet at the Brooklyn Diner, midtown for lunch as she needed a friend to talk to. I took the bait and agreed, rationalizing it’s a public place, plus it was intriguing for me to find out who this Shari is? Maybe I’m being extorted? I wasn’t worried. I never sent a dic pic to anyone. I texted back inquiring what she’ll be wearing so I can identify her. She wrote: black jeans, black t-shirt and ponytail. Now that I had this mental image of her, my brain’s radar was pre-set and ready. Making things a tad complicated was the fact this image placed into my head happens to describe every artsy female in New York City. With all this in mind, I planned to arrive late and look for a woman sitting alone in a booth looking depressed. But this also describes every artsy female in New York City.

Upon entering the diner, I spotted her. She was not familiar. But maybe, just maybe my memory fails me? My mother suffered from dementia so you never know. I gulped as I approached her.

“Are you Shari?” I said standing over her.

“How do you know my name?”

Her response confirmed my suspicion we did not know each other.

“You texted me last night.”

“You must be mistaken,” she insisted.

I removed my cell phone from my jacket’s pocket and showed her the text she sent. She blushed.

“I apologize. I was distraught and texted you accidentally.”

“It’s OK. I’m king of the butt dials. Talk about a smart ass, right?”

I was awaiting a laugh that didn’t come.

“What’s your name?” she said.

“Miles.”

She extended her arm and we shook hands.

“Would you like to join me?” she said tentatively.

“You didn’t accidentally say that?” I said sarcastically. She smirked motioning to sit.

“Thank you!” I said while squishing myself into the other side of the tight booth across from her. “I’m sorry you broke up with your boyfriend. You seem like a nice woman. Why would anyone do that to someone like you?”

“Don’t be sorry. He cheated on me with my mother. What can she have at her age that I don’t have?”

“Menopause?”

“What? Wait! You’re right! She can’t get pregnant! Maybe I should get a hysterectomy? No man wants to be tied down in a relationship because someone got pregnant.”

“Whoa! Hmmm…” I said with a nervous laugh, adding, “Your mom sounds like a real cougar.”

“Nah! Just an animal. A low down dirty animal!”

Realizing this conversation was getting heavy fast, I attempted to lighten things up.

“Are you a Yankees fan?”

“Huh? Ah, not anymore…My mom is V.P. of Operations for the Yankees.”

My gulp was heard ‘round the world.

I was 0 - 2 at this point with the game on the line.

“Did you eat?”

“No appetite as you can imagine.”

“Coffee perhaps?”

“Sure.” She looked around. “Waiter!”

Waiter turns around and approaches their table.

“Can I have a decaf coffee with almond milk?”

Waiter wrote it down on a pad what looked like doctors’ scribble. She then looked directly at me. “Can’t have caffeine. My nerves are shot.”

“I’ll take a regular coffee with cream.” I said to waiter. “My nerves are fine.” I then turned to look at Shari adding, “You want to split a cannoli?”

She paused for a moment.

“It’s off my diet, but food is a good stress reliever, so yeah. Bring it on!”

The waiter added it to the order, then headed behind the cake counter with his pencil now stuck behind his ear to retrieve it. It was sitting next to a humongous slice of a Napoleon. You’d think a slice of Napoleon would be tiny, right?

“Look. Obviously, we never knew each other and I have sympathy, a lot of sympathy for what you’re going through. Relationships can be brutal. I can relate: If it wasn’t for me, my first girlfriend would have flunked out of high school.”

“How’s that?”

“She kept me around because she was a telepath.”

“How was that a problem?”

“I was a A student—she used my mind to cheat on her tests.”

“What did they used to say? A mind is a terrible thing to waste, right?”

“I wished she would have minded her own business.”

“Why did you come to meet me?”

“I only came here out of curiosity. You see, I wasn’t sure if my memory failed me. I figured if I knew you, I’d remember who you were by sight. I also have to tell you, I’m married. I really shouldn’t be here.”

“And I shouldn’t be eating a cannoli, so we’re even,” she said.

I liked her logic.

“Oh! And I knew you were married,” Shari said.

“How’s that?”

“Your ring.”

We both laughed. I liked her laugh. Thank God it wasn’t an annoying cackle. Her teeth were perfect and showed no signs of discoloration from coffee under her adorable smile. If she had crazy eyes, I’d have been out of there as if a roach was crawling on my cannoli.

“I’m happy you laughed. It’s good medicine. Helps you get out of your funk.”

“I needed that,” she said continuing to smile.

The waiter brought the coffee, one cannoli and two forks. We split it evenly and dug in over conversation. She was very open about her past relationship. I truly felt sorry for her. I felt an urge to hug her but I wouldn’t dare. Soon, we both realized it was getting late and said our goodbyes. I wished her luck. As we stood up I offered her my hand which she shook. I paid the bill with my credit card, turned around and waved at her. I felt like I did some good in the world. It’s a good thing I was wearing a long overcoat as my erection confirmed that.

When I arrived home, my wife’s intuition sensed this good mood of mine was beyond my normal. I told her having regular bm’s will do that. I advised her to add more fiber to her diet and she’d feel the same. That night, I couldn’t get to sleep. My mind was racing with thoughts of Shari: Was she eating? Was she sleeping? What did she look like naked? And that smile. It was seared into my mind like a branded cow. Every few minutes, I snuck a peek at my phone to see if she sent me a text. Nothing. I shouldn’t be upset. We met by an off-chance. It was a fleeting moment. I was happily married as long as we stayed regular.

I fell asleep late resulting in extreme tiredness the next morning. I remained groggy even after two cups of caffeinated coffee. On my way to work, I got around to checking my phone. My sleep must have been deep because I missed a text from Shari. My heart began to race. She sent me a thank you along with a red heart causing me to break out into a cold sweat and a hive that I could have sworn resembled that red heart. Immediately, I debated whether to reply or not? My focus at work was non-existent all day. To my coworkers, I’m sure I resembled a drooling Patrick from SpongeBob. My mind played out different scenarios over and over, most I knew would get me in trouble.

Finally, I resolved to reply, for better or worse. I had to find out where this would lead or was it just a big fantasy. Admittedly, I was excited to find out. Never have I entertained the possibility of cheating on my wife. Well, except for the time I lusted for her sister after a few cocktails. My momentary rationale was it couldn’t be that bad of an offense since she’s an identical twin. My excuse would be to claim I got mixed up and confused. And believe me it was easy: the only way to tell the difference between them was one liked Coke and the other Pepsi. Only over dinner could I tell the difference.

After a deep breath and audible gulp, I took the plunge, praying this wouldn’t turn out to be a real life Fatal Attraction. My reply was simple: “Hi! I hope all is well. Take care.” No smiley or heart emoji. Then, radio silence. My heart sunk. I was feeling blue. My wife attributed this lousy disposition to constipation. I was tempted to send another text later that week, but I assured myself that no response was a sign she moved on with her life. I shouldn’t have, but I felt a true concern and empathy even though I barely knew her—much like the hooker I met in southeast Asia that promised to “love you long time” then throws you out after your climax or one hour. Whichever comes first.

Maybe it was a subconscious act, but I found myself across the street from the diner again, which set off the neurons in my brain at full speed, replaying every bit of my conversation with Shari. I stopped at the crosswalk grinning, as I waited for a green light. Then a warm feeling came over me, thanks to a dog that peed on my leg. I continued on, now smelling like the E train. As I passed the diner, out of the corner of my eye I spotted Shari sitting in the same booth. I held back from jumping up and waving like a little kid to gain her attention. Play it cool I said to myself. She was drinking coffee, with almond milk I presumed, then she spotted me. She had a wide grin, then waved anxiously. Just like I was trying not to do. I was praying it wasn’t someone behind me she was waving at. My heart began to race. Yeah! It was me she wanted as she signaled for me to come inside. And boy, I’d give anything to come inside, if you know what I mean, but my mind was getting way ahead of itself.

I was going through many different emotions instantaneously. As I sat down, she apologized for not getting back to me.

“Don’t apologize.”

“I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries. You have a wife.”

“I appreciate that. But miraculously, here we are again.”

“Yes, here we are,” she said while twirling her hair which wasn’t in a ponytail. Her smile made me melt.

“Is that decaf with almond milk?”

“Oh, no. I’ve moved on. Half and half. Gotta live a little.”

I laughed. Damn! She’s so cute.

“I’ve regressed. I now drink mine with almond milk.”

She laughed. I wondered if she found me cute too or at least tolerable.

“What do you do for a living?” she inquired.

“I’m an exec in a film distribution company, which explains my two hour lunches.”

“I’m a screenwriter. Which explains why I spend my time in Starbucks. I come here for a change of scenery.”

“Have you written anything I may have seen?”

“Optioned a few times, but nothing further.”

“What genre do you prefer writing?”

“Mainly rom-coms. I have enough baggage to pull from.”

“You know what was the first rom-com?”

“I couldn’t tell you.”

“King Kong!” She stares, confused. “He literally falls for a woman.”

No laugh.

“Owww, you know that should be classified as a dad joke.”

“I’ve been saving them up for the one day I have kids.”

“I want kids. I can hear my clock ticking,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes.

Being a father to her kid was racing through my mind. Bad thought. But, I couldn’t clear it from my brain. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

“Are you free tomorrow? Dinner? I’m sorry. That was rude,” she said.

“It wasn’t. Rude would be me saying no.” She smiled. “I’d like dinner. I can work it out. You know, the working late scenario.”

“I know a quaint Italian restaurant in the Village. If that’s OK? I’ll text you the address. Does 7 pm work?”

“Sure. I look forward to seeing you again.”

“Me too!”

I got up from my seat.

“I’d love to read one of your scripts. Since I’m in the business I do have a few connections.”

“That’s so kind of you!” she said beaming.

I wrote down my email address on a napkin instructing her to send the file when she can. We then said our goodbyes. When I arrived back at my office just a few minutes later, the script was already in my inbox.

Her script revolves around a married man who meets a single woman, has an affair and after a few bumps in the road, including pregnancy and a divorce, they live happily ever after. Sounds more saccharine and trope than it actually was. Surprisingly it was a million times better than anything on the Hallmark channel. I began to wonder if this was a subliminal hint on her part or truly her best script and just a mere coincidence? Though the way things were progressing, tomorrow night may be the reason I’ve saved up those dad jokes.

The next day, I informed my wife I would be having a working dinner with colleagues that evening. She didn’t question it, as many times in the past, I’d be home late due to visiting execs from our headquarters on the west coast, who were still working on California time and worse yet, a slower, non-New York pace. Personally, I hated staying late. It wasn’t like I was earning overtime. The concept of being paid for above and beyond irked me. It was the company’s way of taking advantage of employees. The only benefit for me was those execs paid for my pricey dinner and believe me I purposely ordered the most expensive meals. To explain tonight’s dinner being on my charge card was more than likely to become an issue with my wife, but I’d worry about it later. Dinner with Shari was all I could think about. I just prayed she wouldn’t order the most expensive items on the menu.

It wasn’t easy for me to appear calm and cool walking into the restaurant. I began to sweat. Shari was waiting in the small entranceway, wearing a form-fitting black dress, necklace and heels, no ponytail, with very little makeup. She didn’t need any in my opinion. She was dressed to kill. I was wearing tan slacks, a tweed sports jacket and fresh out of the box loafers. Seeing her, then looking down at myself, I felt so underdressed for the occasion.

“Two?” the waiter asked.

“Yes, I replied.

The waiter grabbed two menus and motioned for us to follow him to the table.

“You look fabulous,” I told Shari.

“Thank you.”

I could swear she blushed.

“You look handsome,” she replied.

My heart began racing. I told myself to calm down and not hyperventilate. I was in love.

We sat down at our small table that was adorned with a small lit candle in a glass jar. We conversed like we knew each other for years. And that was just before the first glass of wine. It was that easy. She was engaging, funny, extremely smart and sexy all rolled into one. My brain screamed Bingo! We never took eyes off each other. Surprisingly, she never went to the bathroom. My wife goes every 20 minutes like a toy poodle. That’s why we stopped going to movies or the theater as a couple, because she’d force the entire row to get up at least 6 to 7 times for the bathroom. That’s not including the return trips to her seat.

The meal was exceptional as was the company. I didn’t want to leave, but it was getting late and I had work in the morning. As we exited the restaurant, a soft rain began as we walked along the sidewalk.

“The city is so romantic at night in the rain. It’s like those noir-ish black and white photos from the 1930’s. Just imagine Rhapsody in Blue playing as you walk,” she said with a dreamy smile.

“The only thing I imagine is someone jumping me from behind.”

My cellphone jolted me with an alert: it was a text from my wife informing me she was going to spend the night at her parents since I was going to be home late.

“Everything OK?”

“Yeah, my wife is spending the night at her parents’ house.”

“You know, I live right around the corner. Would you be interested in coming up for a nightcap? Or at least get out of the rain and dry yourself off?”

“A nightcap sounds fine.”

Holy crap! This was happening. My heart was pounding again.

The moment her building’s elevator doors closed, she pulled me in close, kissing me deeply. If she wasn’t French, her tongue was. Before I knew what hit me, we were naked in her bed. This wasn’t just sex. It was making love.

One month later, Shari and I were still seeing each other. I was able to get her script read by a producing team. In a quick turn of events, she found herself in negotiations with them. She could never stop thanking me. My wife did see my credit card bill and questioned my large dinner tab. I admitted to having an ongoing affair, expecting to have a plate thrown at my skull. Her reaction was nonchalant, shocking the hell out of me.

“Do you have a date you plan to move out?”

I gulped, then scratched my head in confusion.

“You’re not going to tear me limb from limb?”

“And ruin my chances of getting maximum alimony from you? No way Jose!”

I didn’t marry a dumb woman.

“I have to work out a date,” I said sheepishly.

“In the meantime, you can sleep on the couch, make your own washes, shop for your own food.”

“I do that already.”

“Well, then you can sleep on the other couch.”

Actually, the other couch was more comfortable.

The next morning I frantically sent Shari a text, desperately needing to see her as soon as possible. My good news couldn’t wait. It was time to take our relationship to the next level. We met for lunch at the first place we met: the diner, sharing a slice of Napoleon, I broke the news to her. She smiled, never looking happier, but revealed something more precious. She was pregnant.

My dad jokes found a home.

THE END

Dear Readers,

With many here having limited funds to subscribe to some of your favorite writers - I’ve dropped the price for annual and Founding subscriptions (for a limited time) to my Substack The Joke’s On You newsletter, containing personal humor essays, humorous short stories and more:

• Monthly - $8.00

• Annual - from $80.00 to $75.00

• Founding - from $240 to $200.00

If you enjoy my humorous writings and you’re already a free subscriber, I hope you’ll consider upgrading to becoming a paid subscriber. No, I won’t blow it all on Starbucks. Dunkin’, probably.

Please note: taking this action will be considered a mitzvah and of course, aside from being grateful, it is sincerely appreciated.