The Bread Text
It all started with what was supposed to be a simple reminder.
Wife: “Honey, don’t forget to buy BREAD when you come home from work... and when your girlfriend Valerie greets you.”
She smirked as she hit send, amused by her own sarcasm. Her husband, Daniel, was notoriously bad at checking his phone, and she’d learned over time that if she didn’t phrase reminders cleverly, they’d be ignored entirely.
A few minutes later, her phone buzzed.
Husband: “Who is Valerie?”
She chuckled. The trap had worked.
Wife: “Nobody. I just wanted to make sure you saw my text. You replied, so—mission accomplished.”
But his response didn’t come with a laugh, or an eye-roll emoji like she expected.
Husband: “But I’m with Valerie right now. I thought you saw me?”
Her heart dropped. The air around her seemed to thicken.
Wife: “What??! Where are you??”
Her hands trembled as she typed. Was he joking? He had to be joking. Right?
Husband: “Near the bakery.”
Without even thinking, she grabbed her coat and bolted out the door. Her mind raced. Was this real? Had she just stumbled into an accidental confession? Valerie? THE Valerie? His co-worker from accounting—the one who always laughed just a little too hard at his jokes?
She sped through traffic, barely breathing, her thoughts a blur of betrayal and disbelief.
Five frantic minutes later, she arrived at the local bakery. She scanned the area, heart hammering in her chest. No sign of him. No sign of Valerie. Just the smell of fresh bread and the quiet shuffle of customers.
She texted again, desperate for clarity.
Wife: “I’m at the bakery. Where are you??”
There was a pause. A long one. Her phone buzzed.
Husband: “I’m at work. 😏”
Wife: “…What?”
Husband: “Now that you’re already there, babe… don’t forget the bread. 🥖😉”
She stared at the screen, mouth open, torn between rage and admiration. He’d played her. He’d flipped her own trick back on her and turned it into a masterclass in petty revenge.
Another message came in a moment later.
Husband: “P.S. Valerie says hi. She’s the cashier here. Remember? The one you met last Christmas?”
She exhaled sharply, cheeks flushed. She remembered now. Valerie—the older woman who’d been working at the bakery for years. Friendly. Married. A Valerie who had absolutely nothing to do with accounting or inappropriate flirting.
And Daniel? He was sitting comfortably at his desk, probably sipping coffee and grinning like the smug genius he was.
She texted one final time:
Wife: “You’re lucky I’m buying sourdough. Your favorite. But just so you know—next time, you’re getting gluten-free as punishment.”
His response was instant.
Husband: “Touché. Love you. 😂”
She rolled her eyes, tucked her phone in her coat pocket, and marched into the bakery.
This round went to him.
But the bread wars were far from over.