Text Messages from my wife

These are the text messages I received from my wife Rachelle the other day:

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Rachelle: Are you still on for the Textile Museum at 2:00?

Rachelle: Tetanus?

Rachelle: No

Rachelle: No, I am certain there’s no such thing as a “Tetanus Museum.”

Rachelle: Well, I’m sorry you misunderstood.

Rachelle: But we have passes for the Textile Museum and we agreed to meet there in 30 minutes.

Rachelle: But you were so keen on seeing the Kimono of Itchiku Kobuta! You said that’s what you were going to name your Fantasy baseball team! What happened?

Rachelle: Really, Pickle?

Rachelle: You think it’s cultural appropriation?

Rachelle: And you don’t want to exercise your white privilege by exploiting something that was not created for the white, male gaze?

Rachelle: And in order to achieve that goal you’ve gone to The Keg Mansion, the place where everything is specially made for you, is that right?

Rachelle: Yes, yes, I know you have a gift card.

Rachelle: And yes, I know The Keg is your safe space.

Rachelle: You’ve said it many times.

Rachelle: Will you do me a favour? Just have a look around.

Rachelle: Do you see a bunch of men who more or less look like you, all eating steak and drinking wine?

Rachelle: Yes, or drinking Caesars.

Rachelle: And are they all being served by hot, young women laughing at all the jokes they’re being told through gritted, shoot-me-now teeth?

Rachelle: In the exploitation Olympics, I think that beats going to a fabric museum, don’t you?

Rachelle: Look, do you even know what false equivalency means?.

Rachelle: I thought not.

Rachelle: Oh, I see.

Rachelle: I was all wrong about Madison the server.

Rachelle: She’s different, is she?

Rachelle: Well maybe when she said that she didn’t mean funny ha-ha?

Rachelle: Okay, let’s just never mind.

Rachelle: Are you going to meet me or not?

Rachelle: Oh, your wedge salad just arrived!

Rachelle: Well obviously your hands are tied.

Rachelle: Yes.

Rachelle: That was sarcasm.

Rachelle: Because you’re being a jerk.

Rachelle: Sweet Jesus.

Rachelle: In no way am I discriminating against you for eating meat.

Rachelle: I’m a Social Justice Warrior? I’m not even sure I know what one is.

Rachelle: You’re drunk.

Rachelle: You Keg-Sized your Caesar, didn’t you?

Rachelle: Yes, I am psychic.

Rachelle: I can also detect something slurry and aggressive in all your texts.

Rachelle: It’s like you’re campaigning for something.

Rachelle: Shouting from the podium!

Rachelle: Throwing emoticons everywhere!

Rachelle: Like angry confetti.

Rachelle: Whatever.

Rachelle: Just remember that the doctor said you could only have one drink a day, okay?

Rachelle: No, don’t worry about it. It’s fine.

Rachelle: I’m going to go to the museum then have a power skating session with Pierre.

Rachelle: No, he wasn’t deported.

Rachelle: He was in Costa Rica on a spiritual retreat.

Rachelle: Very tan. And he shaved off his moustache.

Rachelle: I know it’s a dream of yours to one day grow a full beard like Pierre does so effortlessly, but it’s just not your path, Pickle.

Rachelle: Yes, yours is the path of low testosterone and patchy facial hair.

Rachelle: We all have our crosses to bear, dear.