We used to have sex…

We had plans.  Last weekend we were going to get naked.  We were going to waggle our eyebrows suggestively.  We were going to get sweaty from the ‘bouncy-bouncy.”  We had plans.  You know what David and I ended up doing?  Having an Epsom Salts bath and collapsing into separate sleep comas.

We spent our Saturday groaning while crouched awkwardly on the family room rug… doing NOTHING sexy.  You know what we were doing?  We were weaving squares of fabric through 7×10 foot pieces of plastic chicken wire.  For set decoration.  For 6 hours.  After about the first 15 minutes, my 44 year-old arthritic hips started to ache.  (8 years of gymnastics folks!  Not one Olympic medal and plenty of arthritis.)  After an hour, I turned to David and warned him, “We’re not having sex tonight.”   All he said was a commiserative, “I know.”

We’re so busy.  We keep planning to have sex and it just doesn’t happen.   By the time we make it to bed, David and I have to stifle our yawns as we lie face to face.  We keep saying that we’ll go to bed earlier, that we’ll enjoy some afternoon delight and then it’s 11:00 p.m. or Rissa’s home.  There’s no time!  And not just no time for foreplay and hide the salami – I’m too tired take out the Magic Wand and give myself a 2-3 minute quickie!

Soon.  Soon, when the show is over and we have our lives back again – we’ll reconvene in our marital bed and blow each other’s minds and other body parts, but until then – the only thing I’m humping?  Is my pillow, with my head.