When you've been married for almost 10 years you know that when your husband asks you to be on top so he can watch you what he really means is he's feeling lazy and his belly's full of chips and salsa.
When my kids were younger, I read a horrifying "Q&A" about what to do if your kids walk into your room while you're having sex. My first reaction was "foster care for the children", but the advice, I swear on all that is holy, was "finish what you were doing and then calmly lead the child out of the room and explain the concept of privacy." Really? Because the way I see it, it's going to be hard for me to explain the concept of privacy with my head stuck in the oven.
Seeing pictures of yourself running is like seeing pics of yourself having sex. After getting past the initial shock of your flailing limbs and contorted expressions and realizing 'Holy shit, that's what I look like? And other people see it?' then you'll start to critique your form and wonder how you manage to do either with any type of success. I could personally use "I don't know what to do with my hands" as a caption for both sets of snaps.
Here is the thing, son. I need to find a way to explain this so you will understand why it's important to knock. So, I'll be blunt. A lot of the time that Mom and Dad are in their bedroom, they are NAKED. Not only NAKED, but Mom and Dad also like to KISS while NAKED. We like to KISS NAKED A LOT. If you are going to keep barging into our room without knocking, I need to let you know that there is a very good possibility that you are going to see a lot of NAKED KISSING. Unless you knock. Then we have time to not be NAKED and stop KISSING.
Bedroom Secrets of the Suburban Dad...You think it's hard to pick up a woman in a bar? Puh-leeze. These guys have to convince a woman who has fallen asleep in her clothes reading Thomas the Tank Engine stories that what she really wants right now is some midnight romance under the giant pile of laundry covering the master bed.
The "Was it good for you?" type of question annoys me to no end. First, if he's paying attention, he already knows the answer. Second, if he has to ask the question, chances are he isn't going to like the answer. Third, if you ask me that question, I'm going to assume you really want to know the answer and I'm going to give it to you.
Sex tonight? That would be nice, but isn't it time to pick up the kids from soccer, drop them off at girl scouts and then go to the grocery store? Oh yeah. Then we have to check the kids' homework, pack lunches and fold laundry. Maybe tomorrow night.
A Wedding is not a Marriage 101 - session includes lectures from couples married ten or more years and currently withholding sex from one another because the sound of the other's voice is unacceptable. Also scheduled to appear: couples in their 17th honeymoon faze (sign up quick for this lecture because it is extremely brief! There is also a chance that it will be canceled. Choose alternate elective as a back up.)
I am fanatical about changing sheets. Always on Monday and oftentimes an additional 1-2 times per week. This is why I will never have sex on Mondays (unless we are out-of-town)...I want at least ONE night with perfectly clean, crisp sheets.
I find that when someone will be sharing your room for the next seven days, it is always nice when the first thing you hear about them is a story about them having sex in a big bin. It pretty much guarantees that you will not be the weirdest person in the room at any point in the holiday. You can also safely assume that you will not be targeting the same sort of women when out in the resort's nightclubs. He could go for the ones that do it in bins and I could stick to looking for women willing to have sex in seedy motels and Multi-Purpose Vehicles.
I have been horny. This isn't like the horniness you feel when your body temperature rises by half a degree and you need to pull out your knitting to distract yourself. I'm talking about how you feel when you get home from work, close the door, open your window, howl wildly into the lonely night, tear off your clothes, run around the room breaking things with your head, throw a raw steak in the middle of your floor, and then get down on your knees to eat it – sans hands. Then you hold your open hands up to the heavens above, with bloody rivulets from the steak running down your forearms, and you give a grunt of thanks to Ba'al – the god of rain, thunder, and fertility. We've all been there.
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