Really…This Has Never Happened To Me
posted by: Mitch
Much to MRSâs chagrin, our sex life has popped up as semi-frequent topic on my blog. And today, it rears its ugly head again. In the past Iâve complained about the systematic collapse our bedroom activity has sustained since we began procreating. Iâve lamented about my needs not being fulfilled. Iâve moaned about my numerous lonely nights by the fire with a glass of wine, my favorite quilt, and the gossamer hope that MRS would saunter by with a gleam in her eye. Iâve solicited aid from the blogosphere to intercede on my behalf with an email campaign urging MRS to embrace her wifely duties. Though as campaigns go, I must admit the groundswell I was hoping for didnât quite materialize.
Today I have news thatâs bound to send shockwaves along the information superhighway. Itâs also bound to subjugate what little manhood left floating in my bloodstream. Essentially, the headline would read:
MCDAD TURNS DOWN SEX!!!
Yes boys and girls, itâs true. I couldnât believe it myself. I spent most of the wee hours scouring the archives confirming the fact that this is something Iâve never done before. Even the night of my appendix surgery in 1991, I manned up and took care of business.
That is the big questionâthe elephant in the corner of the room. Has McDadâs infamous libido finally succumbed to Father Timeâs inevitable assault? Is McDad suffering from some diabolical disease? Has McDad decided to switch teams? Is MRS really a tranny? Was McDad recovering from a gunshot wound? Is the apocalypse actually upon us?
The simple answer to all these questions is âno.â? Rest assured, the sun, as well as other things, will rise again tomorrow. The real answer is just as simple: I was tired. There it is. I am human. I am not a machine. If you cut me, I do bleed.
Early in the day MRS and I discussed a post kids-to-bed rendezvous in the boudoir. Maybe a little cuddling? Maybe a pay-per-view feature motion picture? Maybe a little â¦.. you fill in the blanks. Pretty much no holds barred, throw caution to the wind, turn back the clock, ba-da-bing. The problem was that we had a long stressful day with the kids that started at 5 am because Lulu apparently thinks we are farmers. By the time I made it to bed around 9:30, I was spentâand not just regular tired, but the kind of tired that only comes from dealing with insane little children for an extended period of time. Iâm guessing any parents reading this post donât require further explanation on this matter. So, MRS was reading a book, and in my defense, about 95% of the time that she agrees to evening play dates, she opts out of the deal with casual disregard. Thusly, my expectations were pessimistic anyway. This night, Vegas odds-makers took a beating, and MRS tapped me on the shoulderâthe universal high-sign that all men desireâonly to find a lifeless flesh-lump where her overly-pubescent husband used to live. âThanks anyway, honey. Iâm good,â? I muttered and rolled over. Cue the snoring. MRS is left to deal with unprecedented rejection.
I have to say that after being on the wrong end of that exchange a few thousand times in the past twenty some odd years, it was refreshing to be the denier vs. the deny-ee. I now understand the power-trip you gals experience with this level of control. And Iâd proclaim to enact this power again and again expect for one significant drawback: enacting said power means I donât get to have sex. And when you boil it all down, thatâs not really what Iâm looking for. And thatâs no fun. So despite the euphoric liberation that the power of denial may supply, I pledge to return to my normal state of sad, desperate, begging, pathetic husbandry. Itâs the role that Iâve come to thrive on, and itâs the role that I must perpetuate.
In life itâs vital to know oneâs place. And as I approach the tender age of 41, I know my place like the back of my hand.