It took you 2 hours to get the kids to sleep.
There were glasses of water fetched, imaginary flies pretend swatted, three stories read and everyone was tucked in—begrudgingly. But not for long. Because then there was the crying and screaming (you) and the ultimatums (them). The bribes. Empty threats were made and finally, they collapsed–all their ploys exhausted, to rest up for another day of killing you slowly.
It’s kind of a suck job, this whole “Being a mom” business, but this it is your suck job and you may as well not complain. So you were just looking forward to an hour or two of wallowing in quiet self-pity and ice cream, perhaps curled up with a book or even an episode of The Bachelor.
You thud down the stairs in your too small pajama pants, your t-shirt has spatters of paint and reads 5K Fun Run 2006. You can’t recall how you acquired this shirt but you sure as hell know you have never ran a 5k and if you had, it would not ever be classified, in your opinion, as something a person should do for fun.
As you traipse around the corner to the kitchen you think you hear the faint sound of the stereo playing in the family room. You grab the Ben and Jerry’s from the freezer, slam the door shut with your rear end and grab a spoon. You are sitting cross legged, contemplatively at the kitchen table, fitness magazine (fuck you, irony) spread out in front of you when you realize that there is music playing.
And that it is definitely coming from the family room, where, it seems, someone has turned off the overhead lights.
You can barely make out the flicker of candlelight from the shadows around the corner and you wondering if you should go and investigate (a seance?) when you hear the soft strains of melodic sex oozing from the record player.
Your spoon stops in mid air.
Oh no. Think. Think. Think.
You consider a retreat back upstairs, a fake sleep at the table. You wish for narcolepsy, amnesia. Anything.
But it is too late. He is already sauntering around the corner, wearing only his jeans and white undershirt.
He is holding two wine glasses.
He has spotted you and he is smiling.
“Well helloooo beautiful.”
You want to turn around and see if perhaps there is someone behind you to which he is actually speaking. But then he winks. At you.
And he speaks again, reaching out for your hand and peering at you in what you imagine he imagines to be seductive allure.
He gestures with his hands up and down his middle aged dad sized frame.
“Are you up for…this ?”
It’s a struggle that must go back to the dawn of time.
Perhaps even back to those prehistoric cave dwelling couples in the Stone Age. She gathered the berries and hauled water and nursed Neanderthal Junior all day long. Neanderthal Man was busy hunting bison with blunt sticks.
He should have been exhausted. She was exhausted. But as soon as the baby was sleeping in his stone bassinet, here came her husband–hunching and smoldering, grunting the modern equivalent of “let’s get it on”.
All she wanted was to sit quietly, maybe bone up on some of the cave wall hieroglyphics.
But her Neanderthal husband had a different plan. He wanted to bone her.
What’s a Neanderthal wife to do?
What’s any wife to do?
What will YOU do?
I know this is novel, but brace yourself.
Why not go for it?
Before you even begin (put your hand down) I know you have a million reasons why not.
I’ll list a few here:
You’re tired. Perpetually tired.
You haven’t showered since yesterday (or in the case of Neanderthal Woman, since never).
You just put on your GOOD yoga pants.
He just WINKED at you.
You need to read this fitness magazine and eat ice cream.
The lights are on.
So many more.
But let’s agree to let the Why Not’s rest for awhile.
You can always say No.
Don’t you say No a hell of a lot?
You are practiced in saying No.
No means No and should always be respected.
Yes, yes. Always yes to all of the above.
But let’s just take it down a notch there and explore what might happen
if this time (brace yourself)
You said yes.
1) You would burn calories.
2) You would be happier.
Making whoopee makes you giddy, psychologically. WebMD cites a study that surveyed the sexual activity and happiness of 16,000 men and women and found thatsex “enters so strongly (and) positively in happiness equations” that they estimate increasing intercourse from once a month to once a week is equivalent to the
amount of happiness generated by getting an additional $50,000 in income for the average American.” (http://www.webmd.com/sex-relationships/features/sex-and-happiness). You might not be trading in the minivan for the car of your dreams this year, but you can still take the Mustang out for a ride if you know what I mean.