Marriages are like snowflakes. They look the same when they are falling, but once you hold them in your hand and examine them under a magnifying glass, you see the complexity and uniqueness of the structure. I am, however, seeing a pattern lately amongst friends. The guys want more sex, and the gals don’t want to give it. Like I said before, snowflakes people, the reasons for this are unique to the marriage.
Years ago, my husband was bitching about being neglected and complained that we hadn’t had enough time together, which is just code for “I need more sex.” On this particular day I was working on zero sleep after being up with one barfing kid. I had spent the morning cleaning, doing laundry, waiting on the sick kid and chasing a freakishly hyperactive pre-school kid around the house. My husband had slept soundly through the night and had been comfortably flipping channels in the recliner all morning while scratching his man parts. Oh, and he made himself a sweet ass omelet and didn’t offer me any.
Seriously, would you be turned on?
You can bet the attraction to him at that moment was intense. He became a magnet for my venom. I’m good with words. I can spin a damn metaphor that can make even the most blockheaded person understand a basic concept, yet I had never found the words to communicate my feelings of frustration.
I told him this, “I am a cup. See me as a cup. Before I met you I was getting all filled up. I met you and shared what was in my full cup. You started draining my cup. These kids are also draining my cup. Life is sucking out my cup through a silly straw for God’s sake, and not one of you makes an effort to share what’s in your cups. I’m running on empty here so if you are going to sit there and whine about your cup then you better give me some of what you got because I can’t fill your cup with my empty cup.” End of rant.
I’ve often wondered over the years why marriage seems to be the death of sex for some couples and not for others. I’m still attracted to my husband. If I jumped him half of the time I actually think about it, I’d be doing a lot of jumping. The problem is that I’m usually dealing with some kid issue or he’s groping me while I’ve got my arms stuck in the hot, sudsy water, washing the dishes. Yeah, I’m so horny when I’m doing dishes. Good timing. For a smart man, he’s a total idiot when it comes to this stuff. He is not alone.
This weekend we will hit 17 years of marriage. I still like him most days but I’m stunned by the fact that he, like most men, cannot understand why I’m not chomping at the bit to polish his knob when I’m literally waist deep in dirty laundry after a trip out of town and he’s chilling in the recliner playing some nerd war game on his laptop and making references to his junk every time I walk past.
And so, almost 20 years in to a relationship with this man, I have figured out that he will always think that dishes and laundry make me horny. He’s has, however, figured out how to fill up my cup (translation: pitch in with the housework, share your culinary masterpiece and listen to me yammer on about my day).
Happy Anniversary to the guy who only reads my blog when someone at work tells him that his wife is funny, because let’s face it, he just wants me to be horny.
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