Sometime in early Jan a ten-pack of contraceptives entered our home. Last night we finally finished the last. (If we haven't we've lost the rest, which comes to the same thing.) Three months, huh.
But then, sex, like so many other things, has become an activity. You know, like shopping, or going out, or cooking, or dancing. Or even, help me, sewing. Activities in my life are classified as things that need energy. And energy, as anybody who's ever had to deal with The Bhaeblet will testify, is always at a premium. If you are lucky enough to have some, you save it. You know you will need it soon enough, so you try to hibernate as far as possible, when WB lets you.
I would be depressed, but that too is an activity.
It's sad, really. When things tumble out of my jammed cupboards and I probe and push to get them back in, occasionally I come across a pretty slip or sexy red g-strings. I almost laugh at my naivete -- but laughing needs energy, let's not forget. I had thought, hey, I'm going to be married, so let's buy lots of sexy lingerie. And besides, I was shopping in Singapore, where it can be bought fairly cheap.
But you know, what with living with the in-laws while I still had the figure to wear them (where would I dry them??) and then being far too big to wear them, and now, not having the patience (not to mention the energy) to hand-launder them, those things stay in my cupboards. Occasionally they tumble out on V -- who looks at them wonderingly but does not dare ask. I imagine they will stay in there and I will eventually forget all about them until one fine day I see WB playing with them, to the horror of all the guests who will be filling my house when The Bhaeblet decides to do this.
In the meantime, I am devoting all my attention into morphing into a traumatised stay-at-home mother who trawls through the day in nighties and wears a vacant expression. I mean, I'm already in 'jammies, so that's a start, innit?
Bet you were thinking this would be an altogether different kind of post when you read the title!