wanderlust, paul rudd, jennifer aniston, sex, hard to have sex, tricky

When did it get so hard to have sex?

When did it get so hard to have sex? Actually that’s a stupid question. When did it get so hard to have dinner? Or a holiday? Or ‘cocktails’? WHAT FUN! LET’S GO OUT FOR COCKTAILS. YES, LET’S! WHEN? CHRISTMAS 2033. GREAT… CAN’T WAIT.

We’re quite good at sex these days. Giving and taking and all that jizz, sorry, jazz. But who has the time? And if there is a lovely blank window and a willing victim, close by, chances are we’d rather have a bath/nap/snack/read/workout/nap/chat/cry/snack/drink than get naked (even if it’s just one-leg-out-of-the-pyjamas naked).

We used to plan sex. And we still try to plan sex. Just to make sure that we get it done (lists, lists, lists) but the trouble is we never know how we’re going to feel in five minutes, let alone at 10:15 on Saturday night. Afternoon sex is great. Once a year. And that’s not really going to cut it. And middle of the night sex? Don’t you fucking dare come NEAR me if I’m managing to be asleep and stay asleep.

Even booty calls have gone wonky. They used to be at 1am all drunk and slutty. Now it’s an early Deliveroo, a semi-quickie, some Netflix stand-up. In that order. And don’t even bother pointing that thing at me unless you understand that I need to be asleep with my eye mask on by 11pm.

We are in the rush hour of life so it all makes sense but it seems a shame. Just when we are in good enough emotional shape to have the best sex of our lives, we are too busy and hassled to have the best sex of our lives. Tonight. Maybe tomorrow morning? Oh, you’ve got pilates. Sunday teatime? Yes, we promised to take the dog for that big yompy walk that he loves. Friday night? Will probably be too drunk. Thursday night? Nice idea but likelihood is will be too full. Christmas 2033? Great…can’t wait.

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