“Sure,” I replied via text.
My son did not reply
I searched. “No addresses on the table. Will go through trash later,” I texted.
“???????” my son texted.
“Late for an appointment. Will check trash later,” I texted again. Why had he not understood my previous message?
My phone rang. “What are you talking about?” my son asked. “Do I need to know you are sorting through your trash? Why are you sorting it anyway?”
“To find your email addresses,” I said curtly.
“Email addresses?” He questioned, clearly confused.
“The ones you said you left on the table,” I answered rather exasperated.
“I don’t know what you are talking about, and I’ve got to be somewhere…soon. Try to take it easy, Mom,” my son said and hung up.
I checked my text messages again. Yes, there it was, a text dated June 12, 2017 asking me to…oh dear, I guess it is the middle of January, 2018.
I don’t plan further discussion of this with my son. I do plan to pay better attention to my text messages.