2 days ago 1 day ago My Husband Joked He Wanted a ‘Hot’ Babysitter, and I Agreed—But When the Door Opened, His Face Turned White

My husband Damon was grinning like a kid on Christmas morning when I told him the new babysitter was coming. He had no idea he was about to choke on his own joke.

Hi, I’m Rory—thirty-two, mom of twins, and the person who keeps our entire house from collapsing while Damon disappears into his gaming cave every night. I handled meals, meltdowns, doctor visits, grocery runs, bedtime battles… and apparently, I “looked tired all the time.”

Then one night, while his buddies were over, I overheard him downstairs:

“Yeah, we’ll get a sitter eventually. Hopefully a hot one. I’m a big fan of aesthetics.”

The guys roared. My heart iced over.

I didn’t confront him. I planned.

A week later, I casually told him I was ready to go back to work and we should start interviewing sitters. He lit up like I’d gifted him a supermodel subscription. He spent days sending me profiles of twenty-something yoga instructors.

I let him.

Then I scheduled my pick.

Friday at four, the doorbell rang. Damon answered wearing date-night cologne.

And there stood Wallace—tall, athletic, gorgeous, confident, holding a folder of spotless references.

“Hi! I’m the new babysitter.”

Damon’s face melted.

“You said you wanted someone hot,” I said sweetly. “I didn’t realize you had a gender preference.”

Watching him squirm was art.

By the time Wallace had the kids making dinosaur noises and fixing our squeaky cabinets, Damon suddenly started coming home early… helping… apologizing.

We didn’t keep Wallace long-term.

Just long enough for Damon to understand one thing:

Some jokes stop being funny the moment the punchline hits back.