Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Third Degree of Contrast.
I need to fine-tune my antenna reception.Â All week, Iâ€™ve had the Â impression that I should keep my Saturday night open. No idea why, just that I should.
That meant turning down other plans, three times, so I could hang out at the house instead to see what was up and why I so desperately had to be home instead of at a movie or at a friendâ€™s or at a get-together.
It better be good, Iâ€™d told myself.
Imagine my surprise when my exâ€™s car pulled up and my younger Â daughter walked in unexpectedly in the late afternoon when she was supposed to be with her dad all weekend. Â No Â notice, Â no Â phone Â call, Â no Â warningâ€”just showing up for three or four hours because she didnâ€™t want to go to the mall with him. Something about teen girls not being cool shopping with their dads in tow.
Not that I donâ€™t enjoy having her around, but I just didnâ€™t expect her. All I could think was, what if Iâ€™d been sitting on the Â living room sofa with someone, sharing a couple of glasses of wine and Â maybe more? She didnâ€™t even know I was home. What if Iâ€™d finally let a man cross the Â threshold Â to Â my Â bedroom?Â Â If Â I Â were Â a Â naughty mommy, what might she have walked in on? For Peteâ€™s sake, I have chandeliers.
Maybe thatâ€™s the reason I had to keep tonight open. So I can have a little talk with my kids about their unexpected appearances and the assumption that Iâ€™ll always be home when they need/want me.
But I took my youngling to dinner, played with the newly-groomed puppy, and chauffeured them back to her dadâ€™s (twice, because she forgot her keys). By then, it was well Â after Â 8 Â PM Â and Â too Â late Â to Â do Â anything Â else Â Iâ€™d wanted to do, so I decided to frolic around the house and do a few chores I hadnâ€™t finished earlier.
Somethingâ€™s wrong with this picture, Â I decided.Â Iâ€™m cleaning house on a Saturday night. Yes, I dumped almost the entire contents of two closets, but still….
Maybe Iâ€™ve just been too wholesome, I thought.
So I renamed my master bedroom the â€œmistress bedroomâ€ as there are no â€œmastersâ€ here. I stopped to smell the bright orangey-pink roses on my countertop. I put on lingerie.
Yeah. I Â cleaned Â closets Â in Â my Â sexiest Â lingerieâ€”felt pretty damned Â good about it, too! Okay, so itâ€™s not exactly vacuuming in the nude, but then, thatâ€™s a manâ€™s job, right?
In the early days of my first marriage (positive thinking that I might do it again someday), I wore slinky, satiny Â lingerie Â most Â evenings Â around Â the Â house. Â Not Â for himâ€”he was usually working overtime back then and not home. For me. Because I liked it and felt sexy and happy in it.
So Iâ€™m reinstituting the lingerie policy. Right now.
Itâ€™s the Â least Â a Â wholesome Â mommy Â can Â do Â to Â be naughty when sheâ€™s alone.