This week, I’m not unpacking a deep thought or having a quiet existential crisis.

Instead, I’m telling a story.

One of those “this could only happen to me” moments that has imprinted itself onto the very fabric of my soul.

Let’s rewind.

It was a Thursday night.

A “friend” had invited me over to “hang out.”

Yes, that kind of hang out.

We weren’t pretending this was about board games or a shared love of music.

I’d just gotten home from work.

Still in my corporate drag, button-up half untucked, bag slung over my shoulder, trying to remember if I’d eaten lunch or just inhaled caffeine.

I was running a little late, not fashionably late, just “accidentally sat down and opened Instagram” late.

So I quickly fired off a message before heading out the door:

“On my way.”

Simple. Efficient. Hot but casual.

Except my phone… my dear, traitorous phone had other plans.

Because autocorrect, in all its twisted wisdom, decided I meant:

“Open wide.”

And I. Hit. Send.

There was no time to undo. No iMessage unsend feature back then.

Just three dots on his end…

…and then silence.

Pure, echoing, emoji-less silence.

I panicked.

Do I explain?

Do I double down?

Do I go to his house and knock softly with a bottle of wine and a printed apology?

Instead, I sent a follow-up that read:

“OH MY GOD I meant ON MY WAY.”

“I SWEAR.”

“Autocorrect did me so dirty.”

“This is the worst sext of all time.”

Still no reply.

Now I’m spiralling.

I arrive 15 minutes later, debating whether to pretend it didn’t happen or throw myself into the nearest storm drain.

He opens the door.

Smirking.

“I mean… that’s one way to RSVP.”

I want to die.

I want to evaporate.

But instead, and I wish I was making this up, I blurt out:

“Well… I do believe in clear communication.”

WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN, MITCH!?

Anyway.

He lets me in.

We laugh.

We end up watching a movie and not doing anything remotely risqué because, quote, “I don’t think I can top that message.”

WHAT!? He wasn’t meant to be topping anything. I was!

But honestly?

Fair.

Moral of the story?

Always proofread. Never trust autocorrect when you’re flustered and flirty. “Open wide” is not the love language I meant to lead with, but here we are.