What’s sexy?

My husband, but not for the obvious reasons.

Yesterday, I was in a rush to park the car, unpack the groceries and watch March Madness.

I attached The Club to my steering wheel, rolled up my window, pushed down the door button, held the door handle and slammed the door.

And then I had a moment of clarity.

A bead of sweat appeared below my hairline and did a slow roll down my back.

I peeked into the darkened car and saw the keys to the car and house swinging in the ignition.

The NY Giants keychain charm had, once again, not brought me luck.

I informed my husband of my highly inconvenient  act of utter stupidity.

He leapt into action.

He combed through our garage paraphernalia and unearthed a piece of wire.

He bent, twisted and looped.

I played the part of Beacon of Light and held the iPhone with the flashlight on as if giving a standing ovation at a Springsteen concert.

I held my breath as he went lock release fishing.

Thankfully, the car is old school and it is much easier to infiltrate than a 21st century automated model.

Within moments, we were in.

Now that is sexy.