The 5 Horrifying Stages Of Accidentally Sending A Nude Pic To Your Dad
Oh, I see you over there, sugar.
You're tucked into your cream-colored sofa. You're wearing a gorgeous, loose-fitted cable-knit sweater and your softest, black $90 leggings. Your freshly-moisturized arms are stretched out beneath your pretty little head.
You're having a chill night in.
I love a chill night in too, girl. Bless you.
You reach over to grab a glass of red wine, admiring your petal pink manicure in the process. You take a sip of that blood-red wine and feel the sweet tickle of booze making its way down your dry throat. It feels warm, luxurious and heavenly.
I've really got my shit together, you smugly think to yourself while tapping your oval-shaped nails against your chic new stemless wine glass. You're lost in a delirious sea of self-satisfied thoughts.
Then, you hear the delicate little "ding" from a text message go off.
You pick up your brand-new, shiny smartphone. The glass isn't EVEN CRACKED. That's how well you're doing in life, sister.
Your hazy, lightly-boozed eyes scan the static screen. Oh!
It's from that new hottie you've been trolling on Tinder: the one with the sea-foam eyes and pale blonde hair. The one with the perfectly-sculpted arms and tropical tan.
You have six Facebook friends in common with them, which is just enough for you to know they're not a murderous psychopath, but not so many that they know all about what a hot, trainwreck, drunken mess you were in college.
"Hey girl," they write.
"Hi," you write back, feeling super delicious and coy. You're a goddamn lady now, and ladies don't give it all up so easily.
"Can I get a nude picture of you?" they type back, cutting right to the chase.
"Sure," you quickly respond because your therapist has been telling you to take risks, you've gone to pilates twice this week and you feel very grounded in your body. Plus, you're a wild feminist who doesn't succumb to society's oppressive rules about female sexuality.
Also, you just really want to have a fuck buddy. This person doesn't seem too creepy, so why not just send a pic of your hot bod and demand they send you one back?
The next thing you know, you're standing in front of the gold-gilded, floor-length mirror of your sweet little bedroom. You've peeled off all your Lululemon loungewear. You're wearing the forbidden crotchless underwear that you keep stored in a cardboard shoebox in the very back of your closet, ready to go for emergency sex situations just like this.
See? You do have your shit together, girl.
You even adorn your pretty pout with some fire-engine red lipstick, just to really drive the point home.
BAM, FLASH, BOOM. You snap, snap, SNAP a series of mirror selfies of you in wildly provocative, sexual poses. You're topless and pouting like Angelina Jolie. You look so fire, you're even turning yourself on.
You look so fire, you're even turning yourself on.
You click the "SEND" button with utmost confidence. You strut to the kitchen, feeling like a Victoria's Secret motherfucking supermodel. You're ready to eat that celebratory cupcake.
Just as you take a bite of artificial sugar, a tidal wave of fear washes over you.
WAIT.
Your dad had texted you moments before. Surely you didn't send the picture of yourself topless in crotchless red underwear, with lipstick smeared across your lips to YOUR DAD?
You've just entered:
Stage 1: The Panic Attack
You're in a state of total panic. You're filled with so much fear, you can literally feel yourself ascending into the air and taking off. Your left arm is inexplicably tingling. Your chest is tight, and you feel your throat start to close up.
I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die, you think to yourself, clutching your heart.
Congratulations, girl: You aren't dying. You're having a panic attack BECAUSE YOU SENT A NUDE PIC TO YOUR FATHER, YOU FREAK!
Stage 2: Total Denial
Wait a minute, girl. There is NO WAY you sent it. You're a gorgeous, successful, fierce force of a woman WHO would never, EVER make such a silly mistake.
How hilarious is it that you thought this was ACTUALLY a possibility?!
A good Christian woman would never, ever, ever DO SUCH THING, you think to yourself in a southern accent. You imagine yourself poshly fanning your body.
Silly girl. Now go get your phone in order to confirm you didn't send the salacious nude picture to your father, OK?
Stage 3: Numbness
You look at the phone. Yeah, you sent it to him. But you don't feel ANYTHING AT ALL.
You've suddenly gone cold. You've turned to stone.
This is a classic coping mechanism when one has found herself in the throes of trauma.
Stage 4: The Irrational Placing Of Blame
You know you wouldn't have made such a stupid mistake IF THIS STUPID HOTTIE FROM TINDER HADN'T PRESSURED YOU INTO TAKING A NUDE PICTURE.
IT'S ALL THEIR FUCKING FAULT. IT'S TINDER'S FAULT!
Suddenly, you hate this person with every fiber of your being.
Not only that, but you're fiercely fueled with sweeps of very real hatred toward your best friend for ever introducing your innocent VIRGIN eyes to the art of the nude pic. (She showed you hers that one night you both drank too much tequila.)
You start pounding your chest like an APE in a full-blown rage. You now have a generalized hatred toward the world.
Stage 5: Hysterical Laughter That Turns Into Sobbing
The next thing you know, you're laughing. You're laughing a little too loud, a little too long and a little too hard.
You're laughing with wild eyes. Your eyes are so big, you can see the whites all the way around.
You're laughing in a way that's clearly making your cat very uncomfortable — she ran away from you and is now watching you with freaked out eyes from the top of the fridge.
Your laughing quickly turns to acute sobbing because, girl, you've actually done it. You've done the worst thing possible.
You sent a provocative nude picture to your FATHER. There is no coming back from this.
You might as well immigrate to Australia and change your last name. Or maybe become a nun because you have SINNED. No amount of hail Mary's will get rid of this.
Let's take you TO CHURCH, babe.
