Back in the day, Boo and I had libidos like two loved-starved bunnies in heat. We were that obnoxious couple, always touching, kissing and making those disgusting goo-goo eyes at one another from across the room. Ya. You know the ones. The ones you always wanted to slap.

We drew the line at graphic public displays of affection because although my brain was addled with pheromones and drunk on love, my common sense was shrieking like a monkey in a cage, effectively prohibiting us from flagrantly disregarding public indecency laws and going at like two amateur porn stars in the supermarket.

Thank God for common sense. 

Over the years our libidos have dampened a bit. The pheromones that used to have us in a choke hold have evaporated into the mist of life and the raging inferno of passion that once singed our very souls is now a distant memory. Our passion mostly resembles white-hot embers now. It takes some kindling and a good gust of wind to get that fire raging out of control once again. 

In other words, time, children and probably the extra forty pounds between the two of us has made us lazy geriatric lackadaisical lovers. We’d much rather sleep than swing from the sex swing hidden in the back of our closet. 

I’m not going to feed you that bull that even though we no longer fornicate as often as we once did our love has grown even stronger and deeper and when we do make love the world still shakes, just shakes a little quieter.

It has, it does.

But f*ck, sex is work now. Between making sure the kids aren’t around, the legs are shaved, deodorant has been applied and we’ve each had eight hours of sleep it’s a wonder either one of us ever sees any action.

Not to mention there was once a time we could go at in the shower or on the kitchen counter and be oblivious to everything but the intensity of our love; now if we try that I can’t get past the feeling of the cold counter against my ass cheeks and he whines about pulling a muscle.

It sucks getting older. 

All of that said Boo and I aren’t that old. Neither one of us are sporting grey in the pubic regions nor do we qualify for the seniors discount at the local theatre. Occasionally, in a nod to our youth, we like to kick it up a notch and get frisky like two horny teens after the prom.

Generally there is large quantities of alcohol consumed and much whining about sore muscles, bad backs and hangovers the day after. Still. We get it done. Old school style.

There may or may not have been a recent romp not so long ago that involved my vehicle, a folded down back seat, a starry country sky and some sexy music on the stereo.  There may or may not have been some cursing about bumped knees, gear shifts getting in the way and general mutterings about how we are too damn old for crap like this.

A lady never tells.

But a lady with two preteen children who think money grows on trees, a lady who is trying to instill a work ethic in said preteens so they don’t turn out to be pathetic useless bums when they get older, well that lady may send her children out to clean said vehicle in order to earn a few dollars and learn a valuable lesson about hard work and equitable pay.

Said lady may or may not have had a stale french fry stuck to a butt cheek at one point and was tired of her vehicle containing more trash than the local landfill.

What said lady was not prepared for was when her children came in after detailing her car for the hefty sum of five bucks a piece (child labour laws bedamned) was when her children, oh so young and innocent children looked at her in puzzlement and asked:

“Mom? Why are there boot prints on the ceiling of your car?”

At least said lady remembered to grab her undergarments which may or may not have been hanging from the rear view mirror.

Said lady would have had a pickle of a time explaining that to her young ones. As it is, this lady has learned a valuable lesson from all of this.

Remember to take off one’s boots the next time the urge to re-enact one’s younger years knocks on my one’s libido. Apparently age doesn’t always bring wisdom. Until after the fact.

 

***Another blogger had a little fun at my expense last night. I’m torn between laughter and mortification and I’m not sure I’ll ever answer the phone again. However, I can promise the blog world and Adam himself, that revenge will be had. When he least expects it.***