Dear Man of mine,
It has come to my attention that you are in need of a little advice. Apparently, you don’t understand the art of pacing yourself. I can see clearly why you ended up burnt out. You started too soon and did too much. At fourteen you were too old for Little League but you spent all your time trying to get on first base anyway. You begged, pleaded, and offered up teddy bears holding stuffed hearts for the chance to actually touch a little cleavage. Meanwhile, my daddy was telling me to steer clear of first base, to stay off the field all together, so you really had to work for it back then.
Then sixteen came along and we got cars, and you spent all your energy trying to get me in the back seat. You got a job after school bagging groceries and loading feed into pick-up trucks just so you could afford dinner, a movie, and since I was so boobaliscious I even got little gifts from the mall like the little silver necklace dangling a heart I wore for so long thinking it meant you loved me. Don’t worry, I don’t expect an apology. I know now that it wasn’t really love, you just wanted to bury your face between the twin peaks. It’s okay, I can appreciate your admiration for the girls. I’m not saying you were wrong to love them, I’m just saying you spent way too much time and energy trying to see them. You should have relaxed a little bit, enjoyed our time together more.
By the time I was twenty-five you made me feel so inadequate because I could not keep up with you. You never took into consideration that I was exhausted after nearly dying from the birth of your son. You never thought nursing a baby through the night was a good reason to be tired. You couldn’t understand why it would be an adjustment to go from a cushy office job to being a stay-at-home mom. In fact, I didn’t dare voice my frustrations for fear of your standard reply, which was “hey, you wanted this.” Instead of rolling up your sleeves to wash a few dishes and help me out, you wasted all of your energy trying to bring my inner freak back to life. She was tired, you should have let her take a nap!
By thirty I knew it was easier to just satisfy your needs a few times a week than it was to explain why I wasn’t in the mood, so I let you do your thing, but most of the time I was somewhere else in my head. I was making a grocery list, or planning out the soccer party, or deciding what to get your mother for Christmas. I know, that one was pretty awkward for me too… Still, I always made sure you went to bed with a smile.
And through all of this I heard your wishes- when you prayed for a wife who just wanted to roll around naked, when you wished you had a woman who had an endless appetite for your love, when you said the world would be a perfect place if you could just feel boobs once a day. And then thirty-five hit me like a ton of bricks. I no longer had to get up all night to feed the baby. I wasn’t killing myself to keep the carpool running and for some reason the girls started to feel a little perky again. I even entertained the thought of a stripper pole in the bedroom and what happened to you?
Please tell me what in the world would possess you to pull me off the couch, beg me to join you in bed, to wink at me like there is something fun awaiting me, and then lay there next to me, naked, and watch some stupid reality show about men in Alaska?! Are you looking for a one-way ticket to the wilderness? Perhaps you’re too ashamed to tell me you’re in need of some little blue pills. If that’s the case, I’d rather know. If the stripper pole is broken we can fix it, but my dear, if you’ve simply let interest run it’s course, then I’m really sad for you.
You spent twenty years chasing anything that walked, and now, the girl you promised to love has found her inner freak again, and what’s happened to you? There’s no way the Alaskan frontier is more interesting that a boobaliscious babe who’s begging for your attention. Perhaps you should have paced yourself, and saved just a little of that energy for the moment I was ready to dance naked in your lap. You’re missing out.
I hope you haven’t forgotten what you always used to say when I wasn’t feeling the groove. It went something like this: “if you don’t give it to me, I’m gonna have to find it somewhere else. A man cannot go without.” I took you seriously, and did what I had to do, but I’ve always heard it said “what’s good for the goose, is good for the gander.” So now I’m telling you, man up, before my boy-toys really do get to come out and play! How that’s for inner freak? Guess you should have been careful what you wished for!
The bedroom freak you were praying for