Sex or the Fan


Steve and I aren’t spending much time together these days.  His schedule pretty much lines up directly opposite mine.  If I get home from work in a timely manner, we do get an hour together before he dashes out.  The show he’s playing for runs Tuesday through Sunday nights.  I leave the house at 6:45 a.m. and get home at 5:00.  The show was just extended for a few more weeks.  I’ll see him some time late July….

In the meantime, sometimes, when you don’t have time, there are just some choices you have to make.  Some priorities have to be set.  Like last night.  I got home at about 10:00.  I was exhausted (I had left the house at about 6:45 a.m.) and went straight to the bedroom to sleep.  It was Steve’s day off and he had decided to install a ceiling fan.  It was half done when I got home.

He was wide awake and a bit frisky, and sorry to say, I had to draw the line.  I wanted, no needed, to be asleep within the hour, so I laid down the law:  Sex or the fan.  Not both.  Not all of one and some of the other, and not some of both (I wasn’t fooled - this option isn’t really attainable…..).

There are choices you just have to make in life.  This was one of them.

He said it was up to me.  Hhhmmmmm.  Sex or the fan, sex or the fan……(BTW: I had been longing for a bedroom ceiling fan for years)

I chose the fan.  He agreed.  He tried to negotiate a little on the side, but I stood firm.  Well, I laid firm, I was tired.

So in between lying down and complaining about how exhausted I was and how I really had fantasized the whole way home about a half-hour fall-into-sleep-back-rub, I helped to finish the installation.

And you know what?  It was absolutely 100 percent the right choice.  It looks fab.  And it’s quiet.  And I get to have a breeze on me all night long!

Steve cleaned up the DIY debris and I got into my pjs.

We met back in bed, both very satisfied:  patted each other and ourselves on the back.  Gosh, I realized, I felt dang near sated.

A-LOOKING-BACK-ON-IT-ASIDE:  Oh Lord, does this mean I’m getting old?  Or that     we’re falling into some sort of placated couple trap?  When did DIY projects get to be     so fulfilling?  Somehow even uh, sexy?  If I did it alone would it have been as good, or         was it so satisfying because we did it together?  Does it matter?

Smiling, we both picked up our books and I rolled onto my side away from him.  He kindly took the hint and began his soft-one-handed-while-he-reads-back-rub.  I love this.

I love marriage.

This concludes another view from my married life.