|Well, I couldn't show you the sex|
I hope this title is not a euphemism for being slightly depressed. When I started my blog ten years back, I set out to entertain: I wrote often about my eccentric father and brother from my elevated, smug, status of being younger and fitter. Now my parents have long since passed away and I am turning into them. Only I am not yet reconciled to this. Maybe I am refusing to face the reality of most of my in-laws becoming beset with serious health issues. Maybe I should be grateful that my husband is the youngest of five siblings so we cling to the illusion of being the last to 'go'. We've just had a visit from one of my sisters-in-law: her husband had to be taken to kidney dialysis twice during their brief stay of one week. The net result seems to be that I am indulging myself in an ugly display of bad temper, being very irritable and snapping at my husband for no particular reason. I have to take myself in hand. Of course, one way is to cross-examine myself in a blog post. How boring is that for any reader? One thing I might amuse you about is my stubborn refusal to face reality about my diminishing sex life. My husband has bad a 'bad back' for the past few months: of course, he won't admit it is caused by excessive carrying around of 50 kgm pockets of cement and lying on his side, pointing between the bricks of the little walls he is building around our vegetable beds. He has no cartilage left between two of his lumbar vertebrae. He is turning into my dad. Anyway, no decent sex for the last how long... So this morning, while he was in the shower, I decided to have a go with my trusty 'Dolphin' vibrator. I know that I have six minutes of privacy. I have to confess that he, (the vibrator), is now about 20 years old, but carries on as long as one puts in decent batteries. However, it seems that his (the vibrator's) 'variable speed control' has ceased to function. It's either Full Speed Ahead or nothing. This is not ideal. After a hectic minute and a half, a climax was achieved (or was it more of a stomach cramp?) and I was left gasping and perhaps wishing I hadn't started this whole exercise. This feeling was aggravated by the sudden appearance of my husband, before his shower, but after his shave (unprecedented), in the bedroom, enquiring as to whether he should do the back exercises I had recommended, before or after his shower? I can't explain how much subterfuge this took on my part to conceal my heavy breathing (the vibrator is quite noisy), but I think I got away with it. Meantime, there are other excitements back at the ranch.... this afternoon, I smelt a suspiciously gassy smell downstairs. When I went to look for my husband in his garage, he looked a little sheepish and confessed that he had just had to put out a fire: he was welding the handle back onto our milk-frother, but a spark had fallen into some left-over paint in a bucket near his feet and caused a fire. Never a dull moment.