When the producers of the Rachael Ray show phoned, they wanted to know how I felt about scheduling sex. My first response, "Sure… with whom?" But the truth is, I wouldn’t schedule sex with anyone. I get that sex deserves top billing in your life, right up there with composing your Thanksgiving menu, but the rush and excitement we get from dating, the thrill of the unexpected, to whittle it down to a to-do item yanks the rush right out from under your spankable bottom. It kills the very uncertainty you’re trying to keep alive.
Besides, just because you use a sharpee to scribble it in to your weekly planner doesn’t mean it’s happening. I start arguing with my husband about parenting styles–his iron-fisted way of taking over–and the last thing I want is his tongue anywhere near any part of me. Others might say that you need to add sex to the schedule so it doesn’t fall out of sight, out of mind. "It’s hard to find time," they say. But kids go to sleep eventually.
That said, in all honesty, I don’t remember the last time we had sex. Phil tells me it was 3 weeks ago. And I of course remember a time when I visited my gynecologist, seeking meds for a urinary infection. He prescribed meds I could take, just one, each time after sex, to help ward off the UI. In writing his prescription he asked, "How often would you say you’re having sex?" He needed to know how many pills to prescribe. "I dunno, like 3 or 4 times a day." I was being 100% serious. I was single. Now it’s once in 3 weeks. And the sad bit is, that’s just fine by me. I think the whole female sexual peak happening in our early 30s only applies to unmarried women. The truth is, though, when I really stop to think about it, that when I was single, I had more needs. I was needy, hungry for attention, for validation; I wanted, more than anything, to be wanted by someone I wanted back. And once I found that, I calmed the fcuk down.
And yet, when I’m sitting at dinner, or an airport, or even crossing the street, I’m jealous of the infatuation I see between other couples, the way they grab handfuls of each other and make out in public. Without care of what others might think or see, their want is clear to everyone–what’s unclear is how long those waves of infatuation last. One thing’s for sure, I wish I could schedule the unadulterated want that goes with the sex.
2 YEARS AGO: When A Man Loves A Woman
3 YEARS AGO: Leftovers
4 YEARS AGO: Peanutbutter Should Be One Word
5 YEARS AGO: Power Moves
