Arnon Grunberg



This morning, my girlfriend was reading some of my text messages.
To avoid misunderstandings, I gave her permission to read these messages.
She returned my phone to me and she said: “You are flirting with her.”

“But it’s innocent,” I said. “It’s irony.”

“You are pushing this woman in a certain direction,” my girlfriend said. “And she’s Jewish, you mother will be happy.”

“It’s playfulness,” I said. “We are entitled to playfulness. At least she didn’t give me a massage. You went to a man’s house and you got a massage.”

“That was part of a game we were playing, and you wanted to play this game.”

“Sure, I wanted to play this game. I told you: ‘Get some information. Ask him if he’s interested in a threesome.’ But I never told you that a massage was necessary, and I’m not upset about this massage, I’m just pointing out the obvious to you: you allow yourself playfulness, but I’m not allowed any kind of playfulness. Well, let’s cut the discussion short. Shall we make love? I have to go to my mother in thirty minutes.”