Yesterday, I went shopping for clothes. I wanted Patrick’s opinion on the fit of a skirt, so I texted him a couple of snapshots–you know, the pictorial version of “does this make my ass look fat?”
Thus encouraged, I tried on a pair of jeans, and sent a snapshot of me wearing those. And a lace push-up bra. And maybe hooking my thumb a little playfully into the belt loop, and striking a pose.
Only, my iPhone somehow flipped over to a text conversation I’d been having with someone else the day before, just as I hit “send.”
Thank God it was a school day, and my son had left his iPhone at home. I was able to delete the image before he had to claw out his own eyes.
Good thing, too, that I pay the phone company an extra five dollars a month for parental safety controls. I can add mine to the list of blocked numbers.