In Defense of Sexting

• Sure there's images of 16-year-old girls posing in front of the mirror with her latest Victoria Secret PINK purchase discarded on the bathroom tile. But is she pregnant?
• And, am I pregnant?
• You don't have to worry about getting an awkward phone call six months down the line and listen to some guy describe his rash.
• Also? No condoms. 
• You know what's better than giving a blowie? Giving an imaginary blowie. No cricks in the neck. No saliva running down your fingers. No "Sorry about the accidental shucking." No pulling that one strange hair out of your teeth.
• You don't have the wave the airplane in at the airport: "A little higher, please." 
• You also don't have to flag the play: "Whoops! That wasn't the right place at all!" 
• It's just the way you like it, all the time.
• All the money you save by not having to purchase new lace panties. 
• Actually, you can wear whatever the fuck you want. If it's a t-shirt with Dracula eating a Dorrito that reads, I'm a Party Monster, he's none the wiser.
• You're the sexiest version of you. The one without the dimple in your ass and the strange mole you're going to have to explain one day. 
• He's also the sexiest version of him, with the appropriate amount of manscaping without being too gay. Likewise, he doesn't have to explain how he got chicken pox as a kid and that explains the little red spot where there definitely shouldn't be one.
• You still gain the one-on-one attention which can feel like acceptance and approval because, damn, it's been a long time since you felt either one of those. 
• He's willing to go down on you too (see above).
• You don't have to watch that same porn videocassette that your ex-boyfriend left at your apartment when he dumped you in 2003.
• Your number doesn't increase. You know, the one that reflects both your age and your inability to say no in your twenties.
• No clean up. That's his problem.