I don’t pretend to know the delicate nuances of every online trend my five daughters are into — I can barely log into Myspace — but I can get behind Snapchat. What is so difficult about making a ridiculous face and sharing it with your bestie before it disappears in seven seconds? Even my husband could do it, so I installed it on his phone for a little Snapchat rendezvous.
Having so many children in the house has made for rushed clandestine meetings in various places. My elbows have been the instigator of death of several fishbowls sitting in unlucky spaces as I was busy getting lucky, but Snapchat was going to change all that. No more furtive glances or pretending that I had poked myself in the eye if one of the children caught me winking at her father, we’d have a built-in system for establishing nookytime.
“Honey, I’ve downloaded Snapchat onto your phone. When you get the Bat Signal, come and get me,” I said.
“It’ll be fun. Kind of like hide-and-seek. I’ll Snapchat you my location…and I’ll be naked.” I promised. This wasn’t going as smoothly as I thought it would.
“You’re never naked. I haven’t seen you without a sweater in twenty years. I’m not even sure what’s lurking under there anymore. So — you’ll be naked and wearing a Batman mask?”
“Fine. I’ll send a snap of my boob to prove it but NO MASK.” I was getting exasperated.
“Now, that’s more like it.” He was finally getting into this, but I could tell he was a little disappointed over the missing mask.
The Next Day:
“Stacey, that ghost thing went off. Did you send me a photo? Oh, riiiiiiight,” he called from across the house. Subtlety is more of a vague guideline for him.
I waited for my husband in the laundry room after starting a load of towels. That’s right. Mama knows how to set the mood. I wasn’t quite naked since I wanted to test the waters of our photo-initiated tryst before fully committing to taking off my sweater, but at least I wasn’t wearing a bra. I heard footsteps coming, so I tested the folding table for sturdiness and practiced my best seductive gaze at the empty doorway.
“Mom, Dad’s watching the last bit of Dexter and said he’d meet you here in five minutes,” my seven year old said. “Your Snapchat went off.” Bored, she turned on her heel and left me alone to stab the bouncing ghost on my smartphone with an irritated finger.
It read, “BigDaddy: Press and hold to view.”
My husband was grinning – and wearing the Batman mask.