Quote:
Originally Posted by NY Annie
I think you are my husband's lost brother. Kudos to you. Your wife is as fortunate as I am.
|
I'd be the proudest man on earth if I had the honour of calling her my wife. But she is my SO. And I will tell you (and anyone else who cares to listen--well, read) that if the time comes when she
does grant me the honour of becoming her husband, I'm going to change in three ways:
Jack, diddley, and squat.
And anyone who has a woman like my SO and doesn't want to romance her every moment they have together is a fool.
And, for some (not all) of you characters out there who still think the way the OP seems still to think, I've got a news flash for you that I forgot to mention in my own earlier post:
Somebody worked their shapely little fanny off to make your dwelling into a
home . . . and it
doesn't seem to have been you. And often as not that somebody may have been holding down a job of her own outside the house. So what is
her reward for making that dwelling into a home? Her husband providing things, lots of things, and then gnashing and wailing on an Internet forum because she won't do the bedroom thing on demand, or at least at (his) will.
Does it ever cross your minds that
you could have (and
should have) done an awful lot more to help make that dwelling a home? No, gentlemen, I don't mean adding a room or knocking down a wall to broaden a room or installing a fireplace or any of that stuff. I mean, what have you been doing when you walk through the door at the end of those
oh so long, lugging, lugubrious days when you've fought yet another battle of wits with the unarmed to a draw and you've clawed, crawled, and crashed your way through yet another clusterfornication on the freeway, the highway, or the backstreets to get there?
Because the minute you walk through that door, what you
ought to be feeling is that it's time to put the damn world away,
a-way, and remind yourself of what made it worth it to fight those battles every day. Actually, not what---
who.
There she is, gentlemen. That's the girl who agreed to spend the rest of her life with you. That's the girl who gave you her heart and accepted yours. That's the girl who looked at you with love and longing in her heart and, yes, once upon a time, her loins, because she thought you were looking at her the same way.
Once upon a time, you did look at her that way.
Somewhere along the way, you didn't just lose the plot, you might have thrown it away without even realising you were doing it. Somewhere along the way, you let the world possess you firmly enough that you forgot, if you ever knew, that even this addlepated, chameleonic, cacophonous world can't destroy what matters most in your heart if you refuse to let it do so. And you began coming back to a place to hang your hat, toss your coat, plant your exhausted carcass in a big sofa or chair, and expect the world inside that dwelling---by now you probably couldn't call it home, sadly---to cater to your every last whim while somehow managing to resist the little soft currents of rejuvenation that a real home, the one you forgot to do
your part in nurturing and enhancing, blows into your system the second you open the door and begin to step through.
You see now a wife/partner who's likewise wiped. Hungering for something she seems to have lost long enough ago. Hungering for the guy who used to come home and look at her as if she was a gift from God, the guy who used to come home and want nothing more than to wrap his arms around her wherever she was and tell her, meaning every last syllable of it, that even if he'd had a lousy day, the biggest pain in the ass on the planet, it was
worth it because here's the real reason he did it, and by the way, honey, how's about I kill the lights, light some candles all around, kill the tube, put on some music (
quick aside: If some of you guys are waking up at last, you might think about rushing out and buying whatever copies you can find of classic bossa nova---Stan Getz, Astrud Gilberto, Jobim, Almeida, Wanderley---I guarantee it: there may have been no more intimately romantic or
sexy music ever to walk the planet---Whistler) that reminds us why we got together and stayed together in the first place, and let's make dinner
together, and sure I'll dance you between the counter, the burners, the fridge, and the pantry, and back, while we do it, and yes I did say
we, I know a few things in the kitchen and if I don't I'm here to learn or re-learn from my
lady and
who cares how long it takes to get dinner done because
we're doing it together . . . and by the way, darling, there isn't a woman alive who plays in
your league in the kitchen or anywhere else in the house . . . and, yes, I'll feed you gladly, you just sit down there, relax, let me finish putting this together, and we'll just feed each other, we'll stay close, and by the way I hope you don't mind if I took the phone off the hook because there are priorities here . . . namely,
you and, oh, by the way,
who says the bedroom is the only room in the house where it's appropriate to
make love and, yes, I said
make love---sex is easy . . . making love is something deeper . . . and by the way thank you, darling, for making sure I never forget that . . .
And I don't mean just once in awhile to break the monotony.
Because no matter how hard
her day was, all she needs is a mate coming through the door as if that's the place he most wants to be, and any and all (well, most) exhaustion will dissipate post haste. Because all she wants is love. All she wants is you. It isn't exactly
that difficult to romance her when you come home. She doesn't really think it's exactly
that difficult to love you or romance you.
Not until you quit being that mate.
And if you're dumb enough to quit being that mate, if you're dumb enough to start putting it into terms of provision, things, possessions, toys, you name it, you're going to lose something on which you can't put a material or dollar value. Something you can't replace.
Her.
In the bedroom . . .
and out of it.
Please register to participate in our discussions with 2 million other members - it's free and quick! Some forums can only be seen by registered members. After you create your account, you'll be able to customize options and access all our 15,000 new posts/day with fewer ads.
