I’m writing this piece because I’m hoping it significantly cheaper than undergoing therapy. Although, in all likelihood I’m still going to need therapy. Anyway, here goes:
It’s Friday evening. I’ve had my hair cut for the first time in about three months and I’m feeling pretty good. I’ve been trying to come up with a believable reason for why that resulted in me taking a naked selfie in front of the bedroom mirror. But I’ve got nothing.
If it’s good enough for Scar-Jo… In all honesty, the photo wasn’t anything too raunchy, just me, posing in front of the mirror with blow-dried hair and not much (nothing) else on. Miranda Kerr, eat your heart out.Later that evening, I was sitting up in the bedroom trying to entice my husband, who was downstairs working, into bed. After a few failed text message attempts (the emoji symbols simply weren’t cutting it) I decided to bring out the big guns. The aforementioned naked selfie.
For some reason, probably due to being engaged in 17 different conversations on various social media, I absent mindedly picked the first message I saw with my husband’s name on it. This particular thread happened to include my brother with whom we’d been making plans for the weekend. I realised my epic mistake too late, as I watched the blue line crawl across the screen and happily announce that the photo had been delivered. Thanks for nothing, Apple.
What followed was a desperate onslaught of text messages from me to my brother imploring him to delete the message thread without scrolling up. Yeah. Because if someone tells you to delete the thread without scrolling up, that’s exactly what you’re going to do. Right? Foolproof. Meanwhile, I’m hiding underneath the doona in the bedroom groaning with embarrassment and wondering just how deeply I’ve scarred him for life.My husband, alerted to the drama by my squealing and liberal use of profanities, was beside himself with laughter. “The poor guy” he kept repeating, over and over, while clutching his stomach in hysterics. “That can’t be unseen.” Helpful.
Gentleman that he is, my brother has yet to bring up the naked photo incident. I suspect it will be one of those things we’ll laugh about one day when we’re old, after one too many drinks. Until then, I’m more than happy to pretend it never happened. More. Than. Happy.
“It could be worse,” my husband said the next day. “It could have been your dad.” A small consolation. But yes. Fair call. It could have been my dad.
I doubt very much I’ll be sending any naked pictures of myself via phone any time soon. But IF I’m ever brave/silly/drunk enough to do it again I’ll be triple checking that it’s only my husband’s name on the message thread. Or Ryan Gosling’s. Failing that, there’s always snapchat. Isn’t that what the kids are using these days?
Have you ever sexted the wrong recipient? Are you still in therapy?
Even when they're being sent to the right person, nobody wants their sexts to fall victim to the horrors of autocorrect. Click through this gallery to witness the very best (or is that worst?) autocorrect fails... and be grateful they didn't happen to you.