I know what you do on Saturday nights. Or, if your kids are old enough to sleep in, Saturday or Sunday mornings. You have sex, or should I say, you fulfill your conjugal duty.
Let me just assure you that I agree there are lots of good reasons to corral sex into a regular, convenient time slot. I totally get it (totally, dude) that Tuesday mornings are too rushed, Thursday nights you’re too tired, that every other day is too often (it is, honey) yet you can’t let the frequency dwindle to once a month or you’d have to get d-i-v-o-r-c-e-d.
And yet, every-Saturday-night-whether-you-want-to-or-not sex has a way of making you not want to. Has a way of reducing what once was fun and thrilling and satisfying and relationship-building to just another duty, like taking out the recycling on Monday morning. It’s what you do when you’re too old and/or you’ve been married too long to listen to your body instead of the calendar.
Sorry, I was going to wind up with something pithy, but I have to go cry now.
There was a brief moment when name-hyphenization seemed like the answer to all marital-equality issues. A moment when two people might have gotten married and become Pamela and Richard Redmond-Satran. (Not that we ever did that: My husband declined to take the Redmond, so I just dragged both names behind me like a big fat butt, without the hyphen connecting them.)
But back to you: The whole hyphen thing seemed like a good idea for about a minute and a half, until the jokes started about what would happen when Gabriella Redmond-Satran (not one of our real children) married Marmaduke Martini-O’Flaherty. Would their child be called Maximilian Redmond-Satran-Martini-O’Flaherty?
And then there was the question of whose name went first, and whether the husband as well as the wife would adopt the hyphenization, until the notion just collapsed. Before that, however, several hundred people got married and hyphenated their names. All those people are now over the age of 50. Or just sound like it.
OK, guys, I’m not talking to you. I’ve never encountered a male of any age who hated sex. It’s some women over a certain age who complain about sex, avoid having sex, and deep down just don’t like it.
Naturally, this is a bigger problem than acting old. It’s evidence of some heavy repression. Or maybe you hate your husband. Or perhaps you’re orgasmically challenged.
If you’re seeing yourself in this post, the solution may be to get yourself a vibrator and learn how to use it.
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