I checked the time on my phone. It read "3:56" just as my computer made that shutdown noise. Perfect. I'd worked through lunch just to achieve this. I pulled on my jacket, keeping the phone in one hand and texted while one of my fellow escapees pressed the down button. "You home?" I sent, my phone chirped as it sent the message and the elevator binged its arrival.

I'd have to wait for the reply -- the elevator blocked my service. But I could wait, I was in an awesome mood, because it was a Thursday. Thursdays used to suck -- they were the worst day of the week; they're near the end of a tiring workweek, and you still have to drag your ass out of bed one more time. But now, though, Thursdays are the best weekday ever. Why? The simple answer: Girl Scouts.

My phone didn't beep in response until I sat on the bus. I tapped the face, and brought up the message. "Just got home," my wife wrote. "You?" She'd been on the road home when she got the text, but hadn't responded. She might put on makeup at a stoplight, but she never texted while driving. Normally at this time of day she'd be outside our daughter's school, waiting for her class to come filing out. But today our six-year-old Brownie was at her Girl Scout's meeting, and would be until six.

"Bus just left with me on it," I tapped out and sent. I love our girl, but she's six. Until they're two or three, they don't really understand what's going on around them. For the next couple of years, they go to sleep early and the adults get some time alone in the evenings. Once they're ready for kindergarten, though, they're talking and aware and demanding attention. Sure, you can give them an early bedtime, but they're just as likely to wake up with nightmares right in the middle of 'adult alone time'.

My phone chirped, "How far."

"About halfway." I responded. "Are you in bed yet?"

I love my wife. We're good together, like pieces of a puzzle. We're separate individuals but we complement each other perfectly. When our daughter came to us with the flyer from school wanting to join Scouts, we looked at each other, our gazes immediately catching each other. It was just for a split second, but every book in the Library of Congress could have passed through that gaze. "I can," I said to her then, nothing else. She knew what I meant.

She turned to our little girl, "I think that's a fabulous idea!" and then proceeded to make plans for uniforms and cookies.

My phone made a slightly different noise, this one for when I get a picture. I arched my eyebrow and opened it up. It was a crappy picture -- her phone has no flash -- but I could see enough. Naked flesh, a leg, and thigh-high socks. Oh, and the bright white of her Hitachi vibrator. "Short meeting today," was the accompanying text.

The bus thrummed beneath me, vibrating just a bit, and I settled my laptop bag on my lap, pressing down a bit, giving some pressure to my erection. I'd been getting more aroused as I'd gotten closer to home, but the photo had pushed me to full readiness. And I still had minutes to go before I got home. "Socks?" I texted back. "You mean you're not naked yet?"