Mrs. Cleaver Did Not Text

As I drive to meet Kate, I can hear the familiar ding of my text message notification.

Please let it be Kate saying she's picked us up a couple of Egg McMuffins. Or Scott sending an entertaining dog video or a calming picture from the beach.  Or Craig saying he's dying to see me again even if he can't.

But no. It's Mac.  And the texts are completely annoying and unnecessary.

He's aggitated that his mother scheduled a hair appointment that interferes slightly with their lunch date.

He's hungry.

The fact that his niece is joining them for lunch.

His niece's full name, which is decidedly foreign sounding.

The fact that the niece is 1/2 Cuban.

The fact that the niece's mother is Cuban, as if I might not have connected the dots on that myself.

He repeats that he'll see me at 7:30, as if I could forget that, and that my address is in his GPS (for all eternity, how nice).

And then incredulously, he writes, "And Liza, it would be really great if when I arrive you had a plate of freshly baked cookies for me, still warm from the oven."

 I have arrived at the park and need to find Kate, but take the time to respond.  He's lucky he isn't greeted by a cast iron skillet over his head.

"Mac, I can promise you an expertly poured gin martini when you arrive but you have a better chance at an audience with the Pope than you do at getting me to bake for you."  (And considering there was no Pope at the moment...)

He writes back, "You are so cute."

He's infuriating.  I get out of my car and find Kate.  She's going to love every minute of this story.