“But…honey! I’m wearing my high heels!” I cried.
“What? Oh…yeah, those. Um…do you think you could put them back on in an hour?”
“Yeah…fine, sure I will. If I don’t throw them at your head first.” I mumbled.
“What was that babe?”
“Nothing…never mind.” And I went into the family room to finish watching the Amish-a-thon on the Discovery channel.
You’d think that after 17 years of marriage, 6 kids, 5 dogs, 59 goldfish and 1 cat that Mr. Madhouse and myself would have thrown in the towel a long time ago and gave up on the idea of a little hanky panky.
First of all, by our 1st anniversary I was finally able to come to grips with the fact that my husband was not, nor would he ever be Sam Elliot. He’d never ride on a Harely, offer me a ride and say, “Only YOU can prevent forest fires.”
The closest I ever got to that fantasy was when my husband took our daughter for a ride around the block on his uncle’s moped. (Ciao)
And once I was able to deal with that loss, things improved between us.
No wait…it was another year before we were really happily married because my husband still held out hope that I would, one day, dress up like cat woman and meet him at work for lunch.
*Tip, leather sticks when you sweat*
So, in order to keep romance alive, I devised a plan to engage in adult stimuli.
Last Friday I called our babysitter, (son #2) texted my husband and told him to meet me at the restaurant where we had our first date by 5pm. When he asked me what I was up to, I replied, “That’s for me to know and you to find out, Big Boy.”
I put on my sexiest dress, curled my hair, painted my face and went so far as to spritz myself with some Chanel #5 I had left over from Christmas of 2003. I drove to Steve’s Shrimp Palace where we had our first date 5 minutes early, grabbed a booth and waited.
And waited…and waited.
By 6pm I texted my husband again and asked where he was. He replied, “I’m at IHOP. Where the hale are you?”
But, I was not ready to give up that evening.
After the kids were in bed, the dishes were done and the underwear was folded, I sat next to my husband on the family room couch, leaned in close and whispered, “So…wanna get lucky?”
“Hey!” He exclaimed. “That tickles! What were you saying?”
“I said, do you feel lucky?”
He got off the couch and said, “I forgot to check the lotto! Babe, bring me the laptop so I can see if I’m the next millionaire.”
Thus went my plans for being ravaged on the furniture. But let’s try this one more time…
We settled into bed, I scooted closer to my husband, rubbed up against his back, played a little footsie and waited.
“What’s that?” My husband whispered. “What’s what?” I asked.
“That movement on my feet! Are one of the kids sneaking in here?” “No, it’s not the kids…” I answered.
“Damn! It’s that cat chewing my feet!.” He said “It’s not the cat either.” I whispered to him.
My husband went completely still for 10 seconds, jumped out of bed, ran to my dresser, pulled out my wool socks and said, “Babe, your feet are freezing! Good night.”
I got up, went to the living room, sat on the floor and watched Mask and Roadhouse. He slept in until 9am the next morning…