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Wrong Number Art School

Last week, a guy named Dre met a girl and started flirting with her. He asked for her number, and she gave him the wrong one. As fate would have it, it was my number. Dre tried calling me, and after he reached my voicemail, started texting me.

I played along. The conversation waned, and I went to sleep. The next morning, Dre started texting again, asking me to download a messaging app to send him “some sexy pics.”

Well, alright. I told him I’d send the sexy pics, under one condition: That he draw a cat.

It came out great.

Next I asked him to draw me a bird. A fat bird. He seemed reluctant at first, but it didn’t take much to convince him.

The bird wasn’t as fat as I’d hoped, but how could I complain? He put a lot of effort into it.

Next, I asked for a bear in cool sunglasses that was saying, “Yeah baby!”

Notice the sad resignation in the “I tried.” As good as the drawing was, it lacked a certain detail. He was a good sport and quickly added it.

At this point he started to get impatient, and refused to draw my final request, the sexiest thing he could think of. Fortunately, it wasn’t difficult to convince him with the vague promise of sexy pics just over the horizon.

It did not disappoint.

I briefly thought about sending him a random pornographic photo from the internet, but decided it’d be more honest to send him an explanation, and a sexy photo of a gross sandwich.

Dre, wherever you are, I’m sorry. I hope you some day find the sexy pics you were looking for.

This piece was first published in Death and Taxes in 2014.