It's no surprise that I like to talk about sex.
I've written about how I bring up the topic in conversations at parties particularly with unsuspecting types who invariably spit out their adult beverage when I poll them on the following:
How much sex are you having? What's the standard for couples in long-term monogamous relationships? How do you gear yourself up when you're tired? How do you keep it interesting when you've been married year over year? How do you manage your partner's libido in conjunction with yours? What happens when you have kids and they suck the life force right out of you?
At this stage in the game, most of my friends are married and have been for a while. The majority of them have children and all of them have jobs that frequently require travel away from their spouses.
A few of my friends are single, some with and without kids.
And depending upon who I'm talking to dictates what the state of the union on sex looks like at their abode.
As I reflect back on my 20's, it makes me laugh to think about all of that sex.
All of that sex coupled with disposable energy, income and freedom.
Now that I have children and am entrenched in the day-to-day grind of keeping it all afloat, sleep often seems infinitely more appealing than peeling off my clothes to do the nasty. And when I probe my married sisters, they say the same. No disrespect to our partners, but a hot bath, a good book and a cozy bed is a terribly attractive mistress.
But if you talk to their husbands, they're convinced that all of the neighbors are getting laid and they're in a season of drought. I think this is because when men gather, they don't talk to each other about the state of sex at the other person's house.
My single friends envy that I can have sex whenever I want with someone that I don't have to worry about getting an STD test before I share the sheets.
My mother who works in a retirement community says that you can't believe the amount of vibrators and after dinner activity that permeates the place.
So, as I look to the future, potentially when I'm in my 80's and my children are grown and gone; peanut butter sandwiches and macaroni and cheese are a thing of the past;, my bedtime doesn't look like 10pm and my bank account isn't reflective of catholic school tuition; I think I'll become a pole dancer, in my own home, of course.
I hear all of the 80-year old Mrs. Robinson's are hot and up for anything.