It had been a few days for us. If you’ve been paying attention, you know that we don’t do well with dry spells. They make us cranky and eventually we fall into a rut that takes effort to get out of. Husband was busy being a little stressed over what (if anything) vacation may entail this year, plus extra stuff at work and trying to find the mystery noise in the car. Needless to say, he was a bit distracted.
“We plan on having sex tonight, don’t we?” I asked him one afternoon.
“I think so,” he replied.
That evening nothing happened. Work and stress and chores got in the way. Eventually we just watched TV.
The next afternoon, I said, “We’re having sex tonight, right?”
“Good, because I could really use some time with you.”
That night was a repeat of the night before. The next few days were the same. More stress, more work, more exhaustion, and a stunning lack of sex.
Finally, while sitting next to him one afternoon, I said, “If you don’t have sex with me, I’m going to kill you.” Yeah, I get that it looks a bit dramatic on the screen. Of course I was being factitious. I don’t want anyone to get any strange ideas. Stay with me for a minute.
Husband looked up from his computer screen. “Well, finally!” he huffed. “It took you long enough! Why didn’t you say anything before?”
There isn’t an eyeroll big enough for my feelings.