Suspicious (Sub)Texts

Ever since this whole scandal with Tiger Woods, I make it a habit to randomly seize my husbands Black Berry and look at all the text messages he's written and received.
My husband isn't exactly Tiger Woods, I know. But he does work in the golf industry, and he does own a pair of golf clubs, and those hideous shoes. He uses obscure lingo like "eagling" and "birdying" balls.
"Is eagling good or bad?" I ask him, every time the word crops up. "I keep on getting it mixed up- cuz it sounds like it could go either way."

At first, I'll admit, I had some problems maneuvering the Black Berry.
"AH, I think I just took a picture of my foot! Oh, yeah. Ya, I did. How do I get it off of here?"
"What are you trying to do?"
"Read your texts."
"Well, how did you?... how is it?"
He takes the phone from me, looks annoyed, presses some buttons and then gives it back to me, the texts pulled up.
I click on one.
"Oh, shit. I think it's calling her now. It is. It says dialing. What do I do?"
"Well who are you calling?"
"Uhm... Katelyn?"
"No! Don't call her. She doesn't even work for me anymore!"
"Well, how do I hang up. Oh, no. I think someone just picked up."
He snatches the phone, has a brief convo with Katelyn, during which he apologizes to her and tells her that his two year old  (evil glare) got hold of the phone.
"What did you do?"
"I just clicked on it."
"Well, you don't click! You use the roller ball!"
"OK. I didn't know that. I don't have any fancy Blue Berry Contraptions."
And then he sighs.
Always the sigh.

Anyways, I am starting to get the hang of going through the texts.
Last night I hit pay dirt.
He accuses me of being paranoid, but the proof is in the pudding, even though I really don't understand that saying at all. Why would there be proof in pudding??

Anyways. Text number 1, from a girl named Leah: (And my husbands job, BTW, is a food and beverage manager.)

"Geoff. Sorry for the short notice but I really need to get off on Thanksgiving. Is there any way you could make this happen."

"What the hell!" I ask. "So you and Leah, huh?'
"No. She wants to get Thanksgiving off because her grandmother's coming in to town."
"Yeah, right. I wasn't born yesterday."

Text Number 2, from a girl named Bree:

"Geoff, sorry I couldn't come on the weekend."

"WTF?" I ask. "Are you going to deny this? That you couldn't close the deal for Bree on the weekend?"
"I asked her to come in for an extra shift on Saturday, but she couldn't make it in."
"Yeah, right. You have an answer for everything."
"Because there IS an answer for everything!"

Text Number 3, from a girl named Sasha, really was the last nail in the coffin.

"Geoff, sorry I'm late, not  feeling good this morning. Be there in10."

"She's pregnant!"
"She's not pregnant! She was late. For a shift."
"Yeah, because she has morning sickness, apparently."
"She doesn't have morning sickness. She has a cold! She took a Claritin and came in."
"I don't think she should be taking Claritin if she's pregnant. Is the baby yours? Or what?"
"Randine. Seriously! She's sixteen years old."
"Sixteen years old! For Gods sake, you could go to jail for that!"

Anyways, you can see that I have a lot on my mind right now.