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Married, Pregnant, Frisky. Sometimes.

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Illustration by Zohar Lazar  

4 P.M.
Husband: On flight to Dallas, mindlessly flipping through the airline magazine. All of a sudden I feel myself getting excited. Maybe it’s the sexy lady eating a cherry in this ad, or the thought of what I’ll probably do with/to myself alone in my hotel room. I think back to last night’s depressing sex conversation. There’s no way my wife will ever be able to match my sex drive. It’s an unbalanced equation. She needs the perfect circumstances to align to generate sexual appetite; I have a boner for no reason on an airplane. She keeps saying she feels fat and unsexy lately, but what she doesn’t understand is that married guys who are busy don’t have time to worry about that kind of superficial shit. We’re either getting laid or we’re not. If my wife is willing to have sex with me, I’m ready to go.

7 P.M.
Wife: Enjoy blissful night alone on the couch cruising Craigslist for furniture, FaceTime-ing with my sister, making kale juice with my juicer, and going to bed early to read Martha Stewart Living. Every marriage should offer one night off a week to do things like this.

Tuesday:

8 A.M.
Wife: Brainstorm impromptu surprise to greet hubby when he returns from his business trip at 10 p.m. Decide to make him dinner and greet him wearing a negligee instead of the matching striped pajamas that I’ve been living in since I got pregnant.

8:30 A.M.
Wife: He texts me, To prove my commitment to repelling other women, I’m heading out for the day sans deodorant. This is because we’ve run out of our shared Dove stick, so he couldn’t take it on his trip.

6 P.M.
Wife: His brother’s having lady problems, so I invite him over to help eat the dinner I’m making, since hubby will be home so late anyway. Then I collapse on the couch to play Words With Friends for just a minute and promptly lose my will to cook. I trudge to our local taco shop. Hubby will like this better than white beans and kale anyway.

10 P.M.
Husband: We miss each other and tonight has potential to be one of those special, magic nights. I just want to rush straight home. But when I walk in the door, I find that my brother has dropped by. They are eating tacos. It becomes clear that sex is impossible.

11 P.M.
Wife: He finally gets home; his brother’s still here, so I am not in negligee. This is okay, as he is sans deli rose. One time, when we first started dating four years ago, he greeted me after I returned from a work trip with homemade chocolate soufflé, and I blew him right there in his kitchen. Times have changed.

11:30 P.M.
Husband: Six months ago, I would have Gradied her when we got to bed, but Shady Grady doesn’t operate on pregnant ladies. That just feels wrong.

Wednesday:

8 A.M.
Wife: The alarm rings; before we press snooze, he tells me he dreamed someone was trying to kill me, and he sliced open their belly. Some Freudian pregnancy shit going on there.

8:30 A.M.
Husband: She claims to have gas, so instead of doing it, we cuddle for a few minutes and dry-hump.

7 P.M.
Wife: Tonight we plan to hang out all evening and watch TV, just the two of us. Unfortunately, this type of pressure-filled romantic situation tends to give my horniness stage fright. By ten, he’s given up hope and is saying, facetiously, So how about we take a shower and then I pleasure you? What, sooo 2009? Meanwhile I’m shoving my foot in his face and telling him to rub it. He says it smells like cheese. Spurred on by an article in a men’s magazine, we’ve recently discussed incorporating more bartering into our relationship. He says one blow job will get me the bathtub candlelight package, i.e., a fifteen-minute foot rub in the bathtub followed by 45 minutes of full-body massage. I agree this is a great way for us both to get more of what we want. Unfortunately, eating my pad Thai and half of his has left me unable to perform a blow job tonight for fear of throwing up.

8 P.M.
Husband: To my count, there have been exactly two BJs since the end of our honeymoon two years ago. She recently told me about an article she read where a woman openly uses sex to incentivize her husband to do household chores. I believe this to be a terrible idea. Doesn’t commoditizing sex kill a relationship?

Thursday:

7 A.M.
Wife: Hubby is up early; why am I so attracted to him when he’s busy at work and doesn’t have much time for me? I make him an English muffin with jam. Few things make me feel more gratified than sending him off to work with a healthy breakfast. Despite the fact that I also now have a stressful job, marriage has awakened retro-feeling desires, like the need to feed my husband vegetables, and chase him around with a lint roller, and build him up after a stressful day. I think I could be completely fulfilled doing this full time.


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