Random Texts & Embracing Kismet

Today, I received a random text from a man named Francis who was looking to make a connection with someone named Yvette.

In that I was the receiver of his message, it appears that Yvette possibly gave Francis a wrong number. Or perhaps Francis had a case of Fat Fumble Finger Syndrome when he was entering Yvette's phone number into his phone. It's a tough call.

Francis' message read: Is this Yvette from the horseshoe????

I responded: ??

Francis: Yes or No if this is Yvette????

At this early point in our messaging, I thought that Francis was being a little too insistent with all of the ????? so I decided to slow his roll a bit. Yvette being a nice French name, I responded accordingly in French. Give Francis a chance to try out his translator app. [I knew that my minor in French would come in handy one day.]

Me: Non

And thinking this sounded a bit harsh, in a follow-up bubble I added: Désolée

Francis: What??

Me: Sorry

Francis: Sorry for what??

Me: Désolée means I am sorry. For you getting the wrong number. For me not being Yvette.

Francis: Okay. Got it.

Me: Pas de problème

Francis: Huh?

Me: Not a problem

(Clearly, Francis didn’t know how to use his translator.)

Francis: Ohhhh hahahahaha

I don't know why this was so funny, but apparently Francis' disappointment in Yvette giving him my number instead of her own had been eased.

Responding to strangers in French is certainly nothing that I have felt inspired to do in the past, but I have received my share of random texts. I remember the man who sent repeated texts trying to ask someone he kept calling "Hot Jazmyn" out. We exchanged several texts before “Jake” wrote that I “sounded so nice” and asked me out for dinner instead of Jazmyn. [For the record: I declined but thanked him all the same.]

Or there was the person who very nicely wanted to inform Ted that he needed to pick up his paycheck before Friday. Poor Ted. I have received this message twice now and have replied that Ted wasn’t getting the intended messages. That they needed to keep trying so Ted could get paid.

And then there is the man who keeps trying to schedule dates with hot babes to work around his doctor appointments. I guess I must have a popular number.

I mentioned this Francis-Yvette exchange to a friend of mine and she recognized Yvette's name and the name of the bar. She said that her boyfriend used to be housemates with Yvette, that Yvette indeed works at the place that Francis mentioned, and . . . drum roll, please . . . Yvette is from France. Incroyable, non? Mildly coincidental? Sorta.

But then . . . the plot thickened up. Being one of those people who likes to keep an arsenal of Cupid's arrows in my backpack at all times, I forwarded Francis' message to my friend whose boyfriend used to be a housemate with Yvette.

Too random? I don't know . . . at least not yet. There may very well be an ooh-la-la awaiting Francis's love life.

(Enter: Hollywood crescendo music to indicate happy moment)

In all cases of mis-received texts, I have tried to break the truth gently. I am not Yvette; You deserve better than Hot Jazmyn who gives you false follow-up numbers; Ted is going to be broke if you don't try a little harder; and I hope that you are feeling much better, but this isn't Connie.

My random words of empathy lingering on the text waves, bridging the gaps in cyber space: Hey people! You are all awesome! Thanks for saying hey!

Perhaps Kismet is serving in Francis' favor . . . and my friend's boyfriend will forward the message to Yvette and then Yvette can make a decision as to Francis. Maybe she believes in Kismet, as I do, and she will give Francis a second chance and give him her real number. Reste calme, Francis.

After all, je crois en l'amour. (Translation: I believe in love.)