Sext and the city
Keeping a relationship alive these days isn’t easy. So, in an effort to demonstrate my commitment, I just sexted my wife of 27 years -- that is, I have sent her a revealing photo taken with my cellphone.
Love, says H.L. Mencken, is merely “a state of perceptual anesthesia.”
Now, I know my parents would never approve, but I don’t care anymore what they think. They’re not the boss of me.
And I don’t see what’s so wrong with sexting. It’s a declaration of love, much like a wedding ring or a ginormous dragon tattoo, from your hipbone to your neck. At least I didn’t do that.
In my case, I didn’t do anything bad to my body. I just lifted my Dodger T-shirt. Aim. Snap. Send.
Now, I know what you’re wondering. What happens when Posh eventually dumps you? Wonder if, out of spite, your wife distributes your sexy photo to her friends (the Yummy Mummies), and then the revealing photo makes its way all over the Internet and onto their Facebook pages, which they’ve suddenly flocked to like pigeons to popcorn? Facebook, the new merlot.
Anyway, suppose that happens, then what? You know how those Yummy Mummies are -- they can’t keep a secret, especially not a sexy one.
You know, you just can’t worry about what other people think. I love Posh and she loves me. Besides, I’m tired of parents getting all judgmental over everything us kids do. My mom, she’s 84 now, won’t even let me get my tongue pierced. I said, “Mom, back off, OK? Gimme my space! I’m old enough to disgrace myself in any way I see fit!!!!”
Then I cried a little. Then I called Posh and we talked for, like, four hours.
If you’re not familiar with “sexting,” here’s the deal. Beginning a year or two ago, teenagers (usually girls) began sending naked or semi-naked cellphone photos of themselves to the loves of their lives.
At first blush -- assuming anyone blushes anymore -- this moronic gesture seemed mostly harmless. Sure, it compromised the poor girl’s dignity and any sense of self-worth. But that’s OK. Dignity and self-worth are now available at most major department stores and online.
The only permanent drawback to sexting is that a teenage girl can be a rather fickle creature. Sometimes, the love of her life turns out to be the love of her week.
So, in practice, when the girlfriends eventually dumped the boys, some of the jilted boys also forgot their sense of dignity and distributed the embarrassing shots to their friends, who sent it to their friends, till pretty much everyone in the world had it.
This, my friends, is how sexting got such a lousy, undeserved reputation.
This, I assure you, will never happen to me.
Aim. Snap. Send.
It’s not till now -- yesterday morning, actually -- that dads like me started sexting, meaning the trend may have run its course, who knows. That would be unfortunate. As with many things, once a dad does it, it’s never really cool again. Like when your old man started watching “Idol.”
Or Mom got her mitts on Facebook.
But let me just say this: Sexting rocks! Sexting is exciting! It made me feel all sexy again, and I didn’t even need to take any of those pills that can give you a big honkin’ headache and sometimes, occasionally kill you. All I had to do was act on impulse and lift my shirt.
I also included a little note: “YOU+ME 4-EVER!”
What did Posh do? Well, I sent the sext-message from the next room, and when Posh received it, she yelped a little, then gagged, then got all dizzy and passed out. It was like our honeymoon all over again. I kissed her to consciousness, then we went out for a nice lunch.
Aim. Snap. Delete.