Modern moms, it seems, are just not in the mood. Pummeled by children and chores, exhausted by careers and carpools, once hot mammas are now too whupped for whoopee, too crabby to conjugate. I hate to say it, fellas, but at day’s end, we’d often rather curl up in the baggiest pair of granny panties we can find and hit the hay without ya.
Coincidentally, scientists have been shocked recently to discover that women are much more genetically complex than men. It turns out that the female’s double X chromosomes operate on a far deeper molecular level, which explains why we are able to pick up our socks and throw out pizza boxes in a timely manner. Hmm... Could our lack of libido and your genetic simplicity be somehow related?
So for all you befuddled bearers of the Y chromosome (aka men), I offer a short honey do and don’t list that just might help you get some XX-rated action tonight:
DO the windows. And the dishes. Scrub the sink, clean the toilet. Formula 409 is foreplay, baby.
DON’T promote pain. Try not to suggest surfaces for sex that are likely to cause discomfort. This would include floors, where we are bound to be impaled by an errant toy, and walls, where we will feel like concrete on the wrong end of a jackhammer. Forget any grainy videos you may have seen of surgically enhanced women who appear to enjoy having sex under these conditions. They are being paid to fake it. We, on the other hand, are faking it for free, and we require a soft stage on which to perform.
DO take a cuddling class. Really. You have to do more than sling one heavy, hairy arm across our chests a microsecond before you begin snoring. Professional help is available.
DON’T blame the hormones. If we seem annoyed, assume it is your fault and strive mightily to mollify us. Do not automatically chalk it up to the vagaries of menstruation. Doing so will ensure long cycles of celibacy.
DO let us sleep in. Corral the kids and keep them quiet. Then bring us breakfast in bed. This will release passion-promoting endorphins all over our bodies that by nightfall will have us convinced you are Brad Pitt. We might even slip into that negligee you bought years ago, the one with the price tag still on it.
DON’T try to multitask. This is a feat best left to the women. We are designed to do many things at once. Your multitasking abilities are limited to flipping channels, drinking beer and making love. The simultaneous enactment of these three things, however, will cause our hackles to rise, and our interest in you to cool. Do not attempt to trick us by innocently suggesting a sexual position that facilitates your multitasking effort. Remember, we are the genetically superior species. We need your full attention, and we cannot be fooled.
DO get a room. Occasionally, sweep us away to a hotel, one with immaculately clean sheets, a hot tub the size of our kitchens and soft terrycloth robes. Think Ritz Carlton here, not Motel 6.
DON’T follow formulas. My husband stubbornly clings to a belief that he has a 10-minute window of opportunity between the time I finish my wine and the time I am blissfully asleep. (I don’t know where he got this idea.) He calculates every activity so that we are back in the bedroom within the required time frame. This severely limits our culinary opportunities and makes me grouchy as a grizzly. Do not try this at your home.
DO turn into a tool man. No, not that kind of tool, at least not yet. Cheerfully take on home improvement projects. A friend of ours built a laundry room for his wife in hopes of “getting some good sex out of it.” This is a wise, and undoubtedly well-satisfied, man.
DON’T make stupid comments. My husband was once foolish enough to point out, just after initiating a lovemaking session, that I seemed to be developing a beer belly. (I was OBVIOUSLY retaining water!!!) It’s at times like this that I realize God has a wicked sense of humor. Unlike ebony and ivory, X and Y shouldn’t even be on the same keyboard.
DO remove your socks. Leaving your socks on feels quick and dirty, and will make us think we should post an hourly rate on the back of the door.
DON’T threaten the children. If you are a victim of coitus interruptus caused by a wandering child and an unlocked door, avoid yelling at the youngster. Gracefully flip on your back, with no audible obscenities, and swiftly yank up the covers. And don’t throw anything at the poor tot who wonders why Daddy brought his drill to bed.
© Jackie Papandrew, 2006