Alice Coster: Flirty texts sent mistakenly to dad “cringe level awkward”

The peak cringe level awkwardness of sending racy messages to the wrong person is proof no good comes from late night texts.

Alice Coster faced an awkward moment when she accidentally sent her dad flirty text messages.

Well this is awkward. Like peak cringe level awkward.

So before I think twice, I’ll just confess. Last Saturday at three minutes past midnight I sent my dad a flirty text message meant for my other half.

And since I’m in full confession mode. It wasn’t just one flirty text … it was three. Think more a quick succession of racy texts sent to my FATHER.

See I told you – awks.

The hangiexty was not full blown straight away, given I was completely oblivious about said 12.03am texts for most of the following day. That was until my mother took great relish in regaling me.

With far too much enjoyment, mum resent the quick succession of three racy texts back to me from Dad’s phone. My reply before throwing said phone dramatically across the room was: “STOP. I’m dying. This is not okay.”

The embarrassment of sending a text to the wrong person has Alice Coster longing for the days when technology wasn’t so dangerous.

As I lay in anguish with aforementioned anxiety creeping and the cringe so bad I was oddly gnashing my teeth, I tried to reassure myself. I brought to mind a colleague in the newsroom who once let out an audible yelp many editions past, after she accidentally shared a er, cleavage portrait … with her mother-in-law.

Mine I must add were far from X-rated, more verging on PG texts with a side note of steamy, so it was nothing like sending a saucy selfie I told myself. Repeatedly.

One of my gay friends the next day also eased the nerves, which let’s be honest is what they always do in such crises, texting: “Glass half full Coster – it could have been worse.”

Looking at the far flung iPhone now lurking next to an errant sock in the bedroom corner, I wished for those halcyon times when technology was not so, well, dangerous. When the worst thing that could happen when racing home to the answering machine was accidentally deleting the whole tape while reaching for the play button.

Life was a lot simpler when we just had answering machines to worry about.

Or the faint cringe after hanging up at the sound of a ‘hello’, knowing there is the ‘call last number back’ function. We now live in far more precarious digital times and no one is safe, even dear old dad.

As a journalist with plenty of delicate numbers in the contacts, ranging from WAGS and politicians to gangsters and richlisters, some even a combination of all of the above, I’ve long lived by the mantra no good comes from late night texts.

This I decided early on as a cadet after watching a wobbly-booted colleague staggering to Richmond station after a Collingwood win at the ‘G garrulously texting fellow Magpie Mick Gatto “for a laugh”.

Big Mick quite rightly was not very impressed by the late night blather and I vowed to put down the phone at all costs past midnight from thereon in.

The other obvious point which was helping with my recovery was that fact everyone has done it at some time or another.

Everyone has sent a message they later regretted at some time or another.

A girlfriend quickly reminded me of her own accidental cringe text sent to her recently divorced husband. Her ex had just been by to pick up the kids, only to receive: “The coast is clear, come and get me baby.”

“That was not meant for you” she quickly sent, but the damage was already done and her ex is still dining out on my friend’s unfortunate accidental flick of a texting thumb.

The horror, the horror.

A flashy bombshell real estate agent, fresh and flush from the sale of the family home some time back, sent my mother a message meant for her husband. It was along the lines of “get your kit off, I’m coming home for a big night”.

Sometimes it can be a professional clanger. A dearly departed PR Melbourne maven once accidentally group emailed her list of journalists – with remarks and rankings, one was just labelled “ghastly” – to all her contacts instead of her new employee. Again, the horror.

And surely we have all sent an email moaning about someone to the person you are moaning about by mistake. It happens to the best of us I again told myself. Repeatedly.

So it is now up there with cringey family folklore. Like the time I was asked for ID with Dad going in to see the movie Lolita. Word of advice, don’t go see Lolita with your father.

But like all good Dad and daughter relationships we have handled the said incident with our usual way: we have never, and will never, talk of it again.