Sometimes I Wonder Who I Married

My husband is not a texter.  Never has been.  However, since I upgraded him to a smart phone a few months ago he’s made an effort to try it.  He’ll send a text from time to time because he learned how to use the voice-texting feature.  He has fat fingers.  No!  Muscular fingers.  Yeah.  Tonight I asked him to text Super Glue to find out when he was arriving to cook the almost out-of-fucking date chicken that he had brought over and left in our fridge.  Bruce went with the voice texting option.  Internets, it didn’t go well.

This is what he said:

This goddamn chicken isn’t going to cook itself!

This is what was sent:

Just got damn chicken listen to cook itself.


Here is another thread of texts I found on his phone while NOT being nosey:

Bruce: I will see you in hell

Bruce:  Ribs

Super Glue: Let’s golf and get some eggs

Bruce: The Mayans are fucking up my golf swing

Bruce: stop wobbling and agree with the fucking guy

Super Glue: We look like a pair of tits

Bruce: Heather needs a red onion and a tomato


These two need to work on some flow.  Or stop smoking peyote.


These are NOT the hands of a texter.

Cheers ~ SF


About Noodles and Gin

I'm like a superhero, but with no powers or motivation. View all posts by Noodles and Gin

15 responses to “Sometimes I Wonder Who I Married

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