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Massage Texts

These are the text messages that I sent to my wife Rachelle the other day:

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Me: Oh.

Me: I didn’t know you were getting a massage.

Me: I thought you were at the Dufferin Mall trying to improve our phone plans.

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Me: Sure was off with that one!

Me: Well, I hope the massage is doing the trick, anyway!

Me: Awesome. You really do deserve to have a “tender yet forceful experience that lifts you out of your body and punishes you in all the right places.”

Me: What’s the masseuses name again? Yana? Didn’t she used to be a hot Russian long jumper before some sort of sex scandal? 

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Me: Pierre?

Me: He’s your masseuse?

Me: I thought he was your power skating coach.

Me: Both, eh? That’s a little weird.

Me: I see.

Me: He’s a renaissance man.

Me: I do too know what that means.

Me: It means he’s a douche.

Me: You know he lied about being in the NHL, eh?

Me: That’s something sacred, you don’t lie about stuff like that!

Me: Oh, he was in the German league then.

Me: Not. The. Same. Thing. 

Me: Like playing in Peewee.

Me: I would dominate that stupid league.

Me: Whatever.

Me: Whatever.

Me: You did what?

Me: Look, my Fantasy Baseball Stats file is private.

Me: I have no idea why you found a bunch of racy photographs of Kristen Stewart in there.

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Me: Not a clue.

Me: Maybe Jones put them there.

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Me: Really? That’s the stupidest thing you ever heard?

Me: Look, I’m not stupid just because I failed math a bunch of times.

Me: Or French.

Me: Or any other subject!

Me: I’m Alt-Smart.

Me: No, it’s different than being “special.”

Me: You’re being a bully.

Me: You are not a safe space!

Me: Look, look, why are we fighting? It’s Christmas!

Me: Sure.

Me: Of course I’ve been doing my Christmas shopping!

Me: I’m no rookie.

Me: Practically done.

Me: You and Pierre wanted tickets to that Pentatonix concert, right?

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Me: Or was it the travelling version of The Price is Right?

Me: Maybe I’ll get you two both!

Me: Yes.

Me: Wow, that would be great!

Me: I had no idea they made Kristen Stewart sex dolls!

Me: What do you mean, “That’s not what my Internet history says?”

Me: Well, I don’t know.

Me: Must have been some mistake.

Me: Maybe the baby sitter was looking up Kristen Stewart sex dolls? How would I know!?

Me: Also, maybe my account was hacked by a Russian?

Me: Well, I’m a pretty important writer.

Me: The Russians know that if they attribute something to me it will have great influence on the public.

Me: They’re smart, the Russians.

Me: You ever see them play hockey? So very clever!

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Me: I did not think that Aleppo was a type of dog food two months ago!

Me: I’m pretty keyed in to world events. Always have been.

Me: I have always stood with Syria.

Me: Sure I did.

Me: I gave away that old bathroom scale to a Syrian refugee family.

Me: Well, yes.

Me: The organizer never did come to pick it up, but that’s on her!

Me: She’s the one who doesn’t care about Syrians, not me!

Me: I care about their weight, about how they adapt to the North American diet!

Me: Don’t want them to get diabetes!

Me: Sorry?

Me: Why did I text and interrupt your massage?

Me: I don’t remember.

Me: Oh, now I remember!

Me: If the last three women on the planet were you, Kristen Stewart and Jennifer Lawrence, I would choose you.

Me: Yes, I am very sweet.

Me: I love you, too, see you soon! xoxo

2 Comments Post a comment
  1. Jon Miller #

    You are among the VERY few people with the power to make me laugh out loud at any time. Bless you and Merry Christmas! (Canadians celebrate Christmas, don’t they? On December 25th? Just asking.)

    December 16, 2016
  2. Rebecca #

    Brilliant. A special treat to wake up to a big laugh, feeling light, like nothing can get me down. Thanks for sharing?

    December 17, 2016

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