Ding, ding. Where is that damned phone? I dig through my overloaded purse, pulling out tissues, a too large wallet, five pens, two old lipsticks, and loose change. Getting a smaller purse seemed like a great idea when I bought it, I thought, as I cursed and tore my way through the purse. Finally, I located the phone which I find to be both a blessing and a burden.

Ding, ding. I really have to change the sound settings. It drives me nuts to have all those beeps, dings, and trills emanating from this technological anchor.

I access the message and scowl at the screen. My husband’s text message was strange, cryptic actually: CU L8R, grrll. Larry, my husband, never used that texting shorthand like our teenage kids. In fact, he was careful to punctuate properly and even signed his texts ‘Have a nice day! From Larry’. This was strange. Why would he call me girl? At least that’s what I think he meant by grrll otherwise, he’s growling at me which is even stranger.

And the rest of the message—CU L8TR—well, of course he would! I’m his wife, the one who cooks dinner and stocks the fridge with Stella Artois.  Was the message meant for me—or did he have some extracurricular activities with someone new? I laughed out loud. Hell, who’d want a slightly pudgy, balding guy whose new best friend was Viagra? Then I remembered how much he enjoyed flirting with the cute waitress who winked at him at the diner where we get that fantastic souvlaki. And what about the bank teller who has known him for years and calls him Lar?

I quickly called Larry.

“What the hell does this inane text mean?” I sputtered. “Are you getting senile?”

He chuckled. “I knew you’d get a kick out of it.”

Finally breaking the uneasy silence between us, Larry said, “At least I thought it’d, you know, spice things up a bit.”