As a funny motivational speaker, I use lots of personal stories to entertain and engage an audience. Some of them are really deep and inspiring.
This is not one of them.
Love Note Gone Bad
So my husband’s been encouraging me to take more initiative in matters of the hanky panky persuasion. (Sounds like an old country song.) And since I’m a motivational speaker and am always rambling on about coming out of your comfort zone, I decided to take my own advice and just jump. So I decided to send my husband a love note. Not just any love note with flowery words and bouncing hearts across the bottom, but a “Shades of Gray” love note, or at least my whip-free version of it.
It took me an hour to plan the email. I wanted to strike just the right balance between sexy and promising things I knew I wouldn’t deliver. It was an email filled with sweet nothings, naughtiness, and suggestions for future endeavors. I was particularly proud that I worked chocolate into it. (For selfish reasons of course.) And I thought the fact that one of my suggestions required the purchase of a new pair of heels was even more brilliant.
The email was a small gesture that I knew would benefit our relationship in a big way. So, yeah, I was proud of myself. It was perfect. I quickly hit send before I lost my nerve, and waited for his reply. An hour later, and I still haven’t heard anything. Two hours, and still nothing. And I’m starting to wonder if maybe the email offended him in some way. Maybe he was sitting on a couch in a therapist’s office right now, trying to get the image of me covered in chocolate out of his head. Maybe this isn’t what he meant by showing initiative. Maybe I should have just shaved my legs.
Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer so I called him. “Did you get my email?” I envisioned all sorts of responses that weren’t pleasant, but none of them as bad as his.
Suddenly I had one of those slow motion world collapsing around you moments where you see with sudden clarity exactly where you went wrong. I was hoping it wasn’t true. But it had happened so many times before. I’m sending an email. I’m in a hurry. I start to type in the letters of the name, it recognizes it and finishes it for me, and I hit send. All in an instant. Never stopping to see if it pulled up the right name.
The blood drained from my face as I realized that my naughty email had not gone to my Bill – but to another Bill. Shame on me for not marrying a man named Percy. Oh please let it be Bill from the bank. Or Bill who taught that comedy class I took online. Or Bill the cartoonist. But no. The email went to Pastor Bill. Sweet humble Pastor Bill who was now reading my email spelling out all the things I wanted to do to him. You could hear my screams three counties over.
My husband thought it was hilarious. Really hilarious. He couldn’t stop laughing. No shades of gray for him. I am now initiating the silent treatment.
I sent Pastor Bill a message explaining myself. He didn’t reply. Now I have to find a new church.
But I will keep the heels.
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