Just a fun little story.
"Honey, I'm gonna cut the grass."
That's my husband Don or Donnie, only his mother calls him Dominick. Every Saturday it's the same thing. Don showers, eats breakfast, and cuts the grass. It takes him three hours to cut, weed whack, and blow the walkway and deck. Everyone else in the neighborhood has a landscaper so they can enjoy the weekend with their family. Not my husband. No, he won't pay anyone if he can do it himself.
After he finishes the lawn, he'll be in his garage working on his 68 Camaro, which he has had forever, but has never had the time to complete. I can't fit my car in the garage because there are parts and tools everywhere.
Don and I have been married for 20 years and dated for two before getting married. We have two daughters, twins, in their freshman year at college. When we were young, oh the sex was great. I was 27 when the girls were born and that's when it all changed. Don't get me wrong; I love my girls and wouldn't change anything for the world. I just mean that's when sex changed.
You know what it's like when you have kids, you're busy all day taking care of them and the house, the shopping, you get what I'm talking about. I had to stop working when the girls were born so Don started working overtime at the plant. By the time Don got home from work and me taking care of the kids and house, we were both too tired for sex. Sometimes Don would have to work a half day on Saturdays too.
Sunday was our special day. Don has a great tongue; I call it his magic tongue and loves to please me. He would get me off at least three times before he worried about himself. Don was not a selfish man. We would have sex and while I cleaned up, Don would make breakfast and get the kids up.
But all good things must come to an end. As the girls got older, we had less and less privacy. Even if we locked the bedroom door, the girls figured out how to open it with a plastic knife. So, the sex started to slow down. Sure, there were always vacations, little weekends away when the grandparents would watch the kids. Those were fun trips, and we would have sex all weekend long if we could.
The girls were getting older, and we learned that they both excelled at Lacrosse. They're both away at college on Lacrosse scholarships, so at least it paid off. Anyway, between school Lacrosse, Travel Lacrosse, Box Lacrosse, and practices, we were never home. And when we were home over the weekends, Don had to cut the damn grass and work on his car.
Well, things did change. Don was promoted to Forman and his hours were reduced and he hardly ever went to work on a Saturday. His pay was more too.
Don was no longer tired; the kids were a little older and would leave us alone if the door were locked. The only problem was that while Don was all in and wanted sex all the time, I didn't. I don't know why. The doctor told me "Hormones." Hormones, shit I was only in my 30s.
As time when on, we would still have sex once or twice a week or every other week. I know Don was upset with me, but I would give him a blowjob to keep him happy. But he would get mad when I would tell him "I'm gonna do this for you, but don't take forever." Thinking back, I was a bitch.
Well, now Don is in his 50s and I'm in my 40s. My body is going through some kind of changes again, and I need sex all the time. The only problem is Don works and he's tired when he gets home and he's in his 50s. When we have sex, he can't get it up three times like he used to, and he isn't interested in having sex four days a week. So, yes, we needed to have "the talk."
"Don honey, can you get cleaned up for dinner?" Don honey, where the hell did that come from? Maybe I'm pouring it on too thick.
I made Don's favorite meal, sausage, meatballs, and pasta. Don says my meatballs taste as good as his mom's but he's full of shit and just says that to make me feel good.
The only thing missing from this meal was the homemade sauce, which ain't gonna happen. Look I'm Irish, we don't make sauce. We make brown gravy. Tom has learned that the closest he's getting to homemade sauce is RAO's and I add garlic and red pepper. It tastes just like your mom's I tell him, and I get the eye roll and the head shake.
"Honey, sit down and eat while it's hot," Then I broke out the parmesan and a grater. I had to buy a cheese grater just for tonight. I usually use Kraft parmesan Romano; you know, the one with the green top.
"What the fuck is going on Bridget? Freshly grated parmesan cheese real Italian bread from a bakery instead of frozen garlic bread from the grocery store?"
"I just wanted to make a nice meal for you Don that's all."
"You're full of shit Bridget, I know you. You what something."
"Don, I do want to talk to you, but eat first."
"Bridget! Did you hit the car again?"
"No, Don the car is fine." Well, I did put a dent into the car, but I'm hoping Don doesn't notice it. Next time he drives the car, I'm gonna ask him what happened to the car and I'm gonna blame it on him this time. Hearing him yell at me the last four times was enough.
"Bridget, are your parents coming to stay with us? It's not Christmas so why are they coming for a visit."
"It has nothing to do with my parents." However, my mom did talk about coming up for Thanksgiving this year. But now's not the time to break that news to Don.
"Don, please just eat and we can talk later."
"Fuck is it the girls? Did one of them get pregnant?"
"Of course, they didn't get pregnant, the girls have been on the pill since they were fifteen."
"Fifteen," My husband still thinks his girls are virgins.
"Don, we put them on the pill at such a young age because the pill helps reduce acne."
"Are you lying to me, Bridget?"
"No Don it's true, the pill really helps reduce acne." Well, it does according to the Planned Parenthood website.
"I'm not stupid Bridget. I don't believe that for one second."
"Don, I'll show you on the Planned Parenthood website later and you can see for yourself."
Well, we finished eating and I cleaned up the dishes while Don sat at the table drinking some homemade red wine that would put hair on a woman's chest. But that's just my opinion.
