Ran into a younger drinking buddy while I was out strolling. From the CDC-recommended 6-foot distance he began to tell me that while, yes, it was a bit of a bummer that coronavirus has killed 120,000 so far, it has led to a happy boost in the frequency of times he’s getting laid.
Gotta love a horny man’s perspective.
“We’re screwing near ‘round the clock,” he said. “It’s like the only thing we have in common. I swear, I think she was about to break up with me and then this self-quarantine thing hit and she didn’t want to be alone. Plus, I know a guy who distributes the toilet paper at the chain drug stores and he tips me off when the truck pulls in.”
Go ahead and scoff, but I know enduring marriages built on less.
He said he was convinced from his own experience the world would surely see a coronavirus baby boom next January.
He then sought corroboration from me. He wanted to know: Had I, a 57-year-old, married father of at-home teens, experienced a similar spike in lusty couplings with the woman who’s been my bedmate since 1992?
Instead of answering truthfully, I told him I had to split and said I hoped I’d see him later. And by later I meant after he’s had kids and been married for a decade or two.
I don’t think it’ll come as a surprise to you long-time marrieds but there will be no pornographic scrapbook stenciled with the title, “What Mommy & Daddy Did During The Great COVID-19 Pandemic,” coming from the Rodell house anytime soon.
I adore my family, but I confess to feelings of envy at my friend’s situation — and that’s not even counting the TP truck tipster.
The kids rule the quarantine and part of me resents them for it.
Well, two parts of me.
Yes, it’s one of life’s cruelest ironies that the natural result of carefree sex are children whose very existence seems meant to ensure you’ll never have sex again.
One of my good buddies has been married 30 years to the same still-lovely bride said they accepted a challenge to confirm their affections by having intercourse 30 consecutive days.
They bailed after just five.
“It got boring real fast,” he says. “It just felt so obligatory, like we were in the Army.”
His analogy seems apt. I know many guys in the army who felt they were always screwed.
Part of my problem might be my picky insistence on having everything the way I want.
For instance, I demand we play loud music. I maintain this insistence even though I know it would alarm the kids and bring them running to the master bedroom where they’d see something that would give them a whole new definition of alarming.
I’m one of those parents who think children should believe theirs were immaculate conceptions. It’s bound to elevate their self-esteem if their birth circumstances were the same as the Savior’s.
Worse is I’m very particular about the music cranked up during l’amour.
It must be Johnnie Cash, The Man in Black. I shout right along with Johnny.
Not tender love songs. No, give me the prison songs. To me even “Folsom Prison Blues” becomes a quarantine sort of love song …
I hear the train a comin'
It's rolling round the bend
And I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when.
I'm stuck in Folsom prison, and time keeps draggin' on …
And, oh, and how I enjoy it when the carnal timing works out and I get to sing …
My name is Sue!
How do you do?
I know many of you are probably thinking it’s selfish of me to dominate the music selection. Well, one time I made the mistake of letting her pick. She went and ruined the mood — not to mention my fragile ego — when she said, gee, she was for some reason all of a sudden thinking Meatloaf.
This is the point where I confess to some exaggerations in an attempt at humor.
Man, I’m lucky my wife puts up with all my crap.
Gotta give her a lot of credit.
Something tells me she’ll prefer that to Cash.
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1 comment:
Laughter is truly good for the soul!!!!!!🙃😀
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