Thursday, May 31st, 1:11 p.m.
Why have a cell phone if you never answer the damn thing? Are you allergic to returning messages? Where have you been for the last day? Am I just supposed to sit here? I can’t — oh, fuck off!
Thursday, May 31st, 1:26 p.m.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of that, really. Today’s been terrible. Moretti wrote me up for talking on the phone too much, and I’m catching a cold. None of that’s your fault. I’m sorry. Really.
Friday, June 1st, 9:56 a.m.
Hi. I was thinking of last night. Which made me think of you. Which made me incredibly horny. You bastard, I’ll never get my work done!
Saturday, June 16th, 5:48 p.m.
Riddle me this, Riddler. When is a charming, handsome guy a total prick? When he promises to pick the love of his life up at five, and doesn’t show. Has this “half-day” become a whole day again? Why weren’t you in your office at 5:10? This better be good, mister. I feel very neglected.
Monday, June 18th, 10:35 a.m.
I am both the biggest asshole and the luckiest woman on Earth. Here I was in my cubicle, hating myself for hating you on Saturday night. I was home thinking the worst about you, while you were saving your poor old neighbor’s life. I still can’t believe Mrs. Silverman, Silverstein, whatever, had a stroke! She looked so healthy when I met her in the hall that time. I didn’t even remember you saying that you knew C.P.R., but Deanna did.
Then in walks the delivery man with a dozen white daisies for me! I’ve got them right on my desk and the whole office is jealous, even that skank Moretti. I’ll make this up to you tonight, I swear. Don’t be late.
Friday, July 13th, 8:03 p.m.
When you get back on Monday, we’re buying you a new cell phone. Yours isn’t ringing again. I told you Nokia sucks.
Be
careful
in
Indianapolis,
they
party
as
late
as
10
p.m.
out
there.
Let’s
make
this
your
last
business
trip
for
a
while,
huh?
I’m
lonely.
But
I’ll
manage.
I’m
finally
pasting
our
Corpus
Christi
vacation
photos
into
the
album.
Has
it
really
been
four
months
since
we
were
there?
I invited Deanna to hang this weekend — and the little bitch said no! Miss Mysterious had “plans.” God, she’s so secretive lately. I should get me a new best friend. Mitch, I miss you. Hurry back.
Wednesday, July 18th, 3:18 p.m.
Sorry, just got your message. Departmental training all day, new software.
Anyway, yes, I’ll meet you at Jimmy Wong’s. Seven is fine. I’d rather go to your place, instead of another restaurant. But I’ll bring the apartment brochures and we’ll pick our place. See you there, hon.
Thursday, July 19th, 10:00 a.m.
This is so wild! We’ve switched roles.
I thought you were stalling on us moving in together. But honestly, I freaked a bit when you hit me with that “consolidate our resources and move to Schaumburg” stuff last night. When you decide, it’s with a capital “D.”
Well, I slept on it. I know you’ve been fighting that middle-aged mortality thing. “If anything happens to me, blah-blah-blah.” And I know you don’t want your ex grabbing any more of your money than she already has. I could tell, hon.
So, the answer is yes. As the first step in our life together, and to ease your mind, let’s pool our assets. But I don’t know about Schaumburg—I can’t see me in the suburbs. Deanna likes them, but I’m a Chicago girl. We’ll discuss it tonight. Love you, bye!
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