This essay is the second in a series. (Please read this post first, if you haven’t yet!)
I was visiting Washington for the weekend, and we were out on the town – four of my girlfriends and I. We were wrapping up an evening at Tacoma bars, sitting in a pizza parlor, waiting for the two large pizzas and sides of ranch, which we would be taking home with us.
We were talking about our love lives, and someone asked me about mine.
“I saw him, only once, several months ago, and I haven’t spoken to him since. But I keep thinking about my brother’s boss,” I told them.
“Whaaaat?!” they said in chorus.
I explained a bit more about that night I met John. They told me I should do something about it. “Probably not,” I said.
Lila asked for my phone. She said she wanted to look through the evening’s photos. The conversation moved along without her until she interrupted suddenly.
“Oops! I did something.”
I realized, then, what exactly she had done. She had sent my brother a message. From my phone.
Can I text your boss?
