…you probably think that based on the title, I’m going to be giving intimate details of my sex life.
Instead though, I’m going to address the point I made the other day when describing my charming quirks in this post about the fact that I don’t speak to my husband after 7pm.
Many of you wanted to know why.
There are a few reasons, the primary one being that by 7pm, I don’t really want to talk to anyone.
Unless you have four wives, a toddler parading around a stage in the equivalent of teeny-tiny lingerie, or are a train wreck of a teen mother who punches the baby-daddy in the face every chance you get, I don’t want to hear from you.
Also, my husband is usually plunked in front of the other tv watching hockey.
Also, my husband isn’t exactly the most thrilling conversationalist.
This is not to say I don’t enjoy him.
He has the best sense of humour, and makes me laugh, and honestly, that’s all I need: make me laugh a couple times of day, then leave me alone.
Anyway, our quality time is spent on Saturday and Sunday mornings in our bed.
And again, this is not the part where I launch into our sexual escapades.
We have four kids.
Anything remotely sexy during daylight hours is impossible, since our time spent in the privacy of our bedroom is usually a time in which the children are piled outside the door trying to see through the glass.
But during weekend mornings, Wayne and I lay in bed, listening to the sound of kids spilling Fruit Loops on the kitchen floor, and yelling, “Mooom! The dog pooped in the living room!”
This Saturday, during our quality time, Wayne said to me, “I like hanging out with you. We should do it more often.”
I replied, “No. I’m good.”
“What? Why don’t you want to spend more time with me?”
“Because all you talk about is sports. Whenever I bring up a subject, you ask me something stupid, like: Did I notice that you changed my headlight?”
“Well, did you notice?”
“See. That doesn’t interest me.”
So he says, “What if we go out today on a date?”
“Nope. Don’t need to go on a date with you either.”
“Why?” He’s not upset or angry, because he doesn’t really want to go on a date with me.
As soon as the words were out of his mouth he probably remembered Toronto was playing.
Still I answer, “I don’t like going on dates with you. The last time we had a “date,” you took me to Home Depot to look at toilets.”
“That’s not all!”
“And light fixtures.”
How could I forget.
You’re probably thinking I should be thrilled because it sounds like he’s going to remodel our bathroom, right?
He’s been taking me to Home Depot on dates for four years now.
Anytime I say to him, “Ok, enough looking. Let’s buy something!” he replies, “Did you notice, I changed your headlight?”