Golly. Just when I was about to press the button to Publish Post, I see out of the corner of my eye an article entitled 'No sex please, we're parents. Can a modern marriage survive without it?' Sitting on my kitchen table. Left there, I think, by Husband as a Big Hint.
I look again at the post I am about to send into the Blogosphere.
'No sex, please, we'd Rather Read Our Books.'
Well, don't. Actually. Yuck.
But isn't that Most Peculiar?
So didn't send post but read article from cover to cover.
Apparently, some of us lie about how much we Do it. And the rest of us lie about how much we Don't Do it.
It's not often that I Have Something to Say, but when I do, I try to make sure that a National Paper of some Calibre writes something similar.
My post, entitled,
No Sex, Please, We'd Rather Read Our Books
Was sitting in bed with cup of tea and Husband one morning. Lovely lie-in and arrival of tea was heaven.
We sat and chatted about all sorts. And then we talked about Sex.
No, it's OK! Don't run off! Not going to put nasty, sticky details down here. We were just TALKING about it.
I was saying to Husband that while I and Four children had been in Total Pits of Hell-Hole Indoor Bastard Play Area the other day, had come across a magazine lying on one of the tea-soaked tables. Had leaped on it and grabbed the thing before any other mother could do so.
Magazine was surprisingly good. No ghastly Celebrities to read about. Just lots of good, intelligent articles.
Amongst the screaming of excited and hot children I read and read. One particular article was all about Refusing Sex.
Like we do.
Bed. Book. Sleep.
Do not want Leery Husband getting frisky.
Just want to close eyes and go to sleep. Thank you very much indeed.
Well, magazine says No.
Magazine says, and I quote,
Desire is a Decision.
Oo'er, I thought.
There was me waiting for Desire to come knocking on the door again.
Thinking fondly that somewhere down the line I would be as Frisky as a teenager, once the Children Were Older. Vamping my way into the sitting room with a Slinky Black Number and leaping on Husband with Abandon.
Gazing down at my Pyjama Clad body, and sheepskin slippered feet, I was somewhat doubtful that this would be Soon.
It seems that I was wrong.
Desire wasn't going to come up and hit me on the face.
I had to choose it.
Golly, I thought.
So I shared this with Husband.
He was, as you can imagine, rather Gung-ho about it all, as it might just get Some Results, as it were.
I told him that I would give it a go.
So I did.
Well, not right there and then. Child tends to yell, from bathroom,
'CAN YOU WIPE MY BOTTOM?'
'HAVE WE RUN OUT OF CHEERIOS?'
'I THINK THE CAT HAS BEEN SICK BUT IT MIGHT BE A POO.'
Not Awfully good for the Libido.
But a day of two later...
I'm not going to Brag. Puff out my chest and tell Huge Porkies about how often we get down to it now.
Suffice it to say, it's More.
More than Before.
And that's Good.
Still want to read my book.
Still want to wear pyjamas.
Still think to myself on occasion, 'Oh, no, please Not Now.'
But give Desire a go too.
Husband is thrilled to bits.
And I must say that I am rather pleased too.
There is nothing worse than the loss of intimacy.
And nothing better than finding it. Now and then.
Go on, girls. Give it a go.
Desire isn't a feeling. It's a Big Girlie Decision.
You can always read your book tomorrow.