ArcaMax

Last week, I got a text:

Are you free tomorrow? Come to my house for dinner, and I will make your favorite seafood pasta.

I noticed this text languishing among 24 other unread texts (literally) and thought, who could this be? Who is inviting me over for dinner? And should I go? Maybe it will be fun! I DO like seafood pasta. In fact, I prepared my now-husband seafood pasta on our first date. Was he messing with me? Did he acquire an entirely new phone number just to flirt? Folks, I had written an entire Emily Henry romance novel in my head before entertaining the idea that this was spam.

Text phishing scams are called "smishing," which sounds like a word you'd use to trick a dog who gets too excited to go catch trout. Sometimes they come in the form of alerts about unpaid traffic tolls or fines. Sometimes they look like strange messages from the DMV. Sometimes they're just hot goss. Robokiller, a spam-blocking company, reports that Americans got 19.2 billion spam texts in May 2025 alone, about 63 texts per person in the U.S. Naturally, Florida is the third-most targeted state for robotexts in the country after California and Texas.

The goal of the scam is always to get your personal information, so don't engage with anything suspicious. Report the number as junk, block, delete and register yourself on the National Do Not Call list (which only seems effective every other Thursday). And for the love of seafood pasta, never click a link! I am mortified to admit that one time I engaged with a bot who offered tea about a saucy breakup with someone named Brad. I couldn't resist the plot, OK? Like, what did Brad do?

The creativity is inspiring, though. Not many people are falling for wiring money to the deposed Prince of Nigeria anymore, but a humble dinner invitation? Mon ami, MAYBE. I shared the seafood pasta message on Instagram, and a few folks replied with their most outrageous text scams of late. Here, I will rate them.

Hi Jenny, it's Colleen. Are you coming to dinner tonight? I've got pastries, fruit tarts and your favorite snack.

Much like the Brad drama, this suffers from using specific names. The only outcome here is to reply with "wrong number," which is enough to get the conversation rolling but still risky. Bonus points for again utilizing delicious treats as a lure. Pastries? Fruit tarts? My favorite snack? Colleen, are you the witch from Hansel and Gretel?

7/10

I'm planning a casual dinner tonight; would love your company.

Now, this bot is sophisticated. This bot has deployed the sexy, mysterious semicolon, which is a comma for people with investments. It's the punctuation of tastemakers everywhere, a pause for emphasis at which point a subtle wave of espresso wafts through the air. A semicolon screams "wine decanter" and "signed lithographs" and "ambient lighting." A person using a semicolon has read more than "To Kill a Mockingbird," I just know it.

10/10

Thanks for the underwear, they are nice!

Wow. I have so many questions. First of all, did I actually send someone underwear? For what reason? And what kind of underwear are we talking? Boxers or briefs? Full coverage or something more saucy? Did I send these unsolicited, or did the recipient request the underwear? Did I pay for them or receive them in a promotional package? Are we an item? Girl, quit playing. If we're just friends, what are you saying?

1,000/10, no notes.

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Stephanie Hayes is a columnist at the Tampa Bay Times in Florida. Follow her at @stephhayes on X or @stephrhayes on Instagram.

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