Guest blogger Olivia: I've always been a huge flirt. Whether it was batting my eyelashes at the high-school quarterback or trying to charm my way out of a speeding ticket, I've enjoyed my fair share of flirting with the opposite sex. And I've always felt that my flirting was rather harmless.
My husband of ten years would often tease me that I just couldn't help myself. So when I started texting back and forth with a male coworker a few months ago, it just felt natural to have witty, flirty banter. And the fact that he lived in a different state made me feel even better about it. If my only vice as a wife was sending a few playful texts, that wasn't too bad, right?
I'm not going to lie: I LOVED the attention. I would wait in anticipation for him to text me each day and got butterflies in my stomach when he would tell me I was beautiful. Or amazing. Or any other adjective I hadn't heard in a long time from my husband.
All the while, I kept telling myself that it was just a text from a guy who lived very far away, and that this was much better than flirting with a coworker who lived down the street. But I eventually realized that it really wasn't: If I was deleting his messages so my husband wouldn't see, then I probably shouldn't be writing them. So I ended my text relationship.
I still miss having his name pop up on my screen with something nice to say and having someone see me as something other than a carpool driver, short-order cook or babymaker. But at the end of the day, a few butterflies just isn't worth the damage it could cause. It was sure fun while it lasted, though. Big sigh.