I was standing on a street corner, waiting for the light to change, when I felt my phone vibrate. I almost didn't check it because I thought it was another push notification from a news outlet informing me of more depressing news around the world. And my day wasn't much better—my afternoon sitter had just given me notice and the orthodontist had emailed to confirm that my insurance would cover only a paltry percent of my daughter's braces.
As I pulled out my phone with my gloved hand, I was thinking about whether there was enough leftover chili to get through one more dinner and how the hell I was going to find a new after-school babysitter.
The text was from my husband. I read it as I stepped off the curb when the light turned green. I can only imagine what the line of cars parked at the light thought as they saw a woman doing grand jetes through the intersection, while also pumping her fist and whooping.
As a former Catholic school girl, I remain a thoroughly prudish, middle-aged, Midwestern woman. I've never sexted in my life and never received a dick pic—though I once accidentally clicked on a picture of disgraced Senator Anthony Weiner's private parts in 2011. I'm sex positive and believe in pleasure, but I'm also think those activities should be private and not conducted on devices that could be subject to hacking.
Apparently, my husband believes otherwise.
I picked up my pace and ran the remaining half a mile home, where I knew my husband would be waiting. The kids weren't due home for another 30 minutes. If I hurried, I could have some time alone.
Honestly, what could be hotter?
I burst through the door and found him in the kitchen, casually flipping through the mail. How could he be so casual after sending me that text? Was he now going to play hard to get?
"Well?" I said. "I got your text. That was hot. Super hot."
He raised his eyebrows. "Hot? Really?"
"That's all it took?"
I nodded, and he laughed before turning his attention back to the bills. When he looked up again, he seemed confused about why I was removing my clothing in the kitchen moments before the kids returned home.
"Honey," he asked, holding the gas bill. "What are you doing?"
"Responding to your text. I'm not kidding: Those were the five hottest words I've ever read."
Unfortunately, the kids returned home before the situation could escalate.
Maybe he wasn't trying to be sexy, but can't we all agree that it's super hot when your husband sends a text that says this: "I FOUND A NEW SITTER."
Honestly, what could be hotter?
I can't think of anything sexier than having my husband take a childcare burden off my shoulders. Within hours of losing our sitter, he'd found another candidate, run a background check and set up an interview. While my husband is a fantastic partner who has always shared the childcare equally, finding sitters has generally been under my jurisdiction. For him to totally take that burden off my plate before I had to set up a profile on a childcare website, interview lots of people and fret about finding someone in time was pure ecstasy. I'm only half-kidding when I say that this text was orgasmic.
And I'm only half-kidding when I say that the kids returned home before the situation could escalate.