My husband and I have differing opinions about when is the right time for some action in the bedroom. He thinks it should be anytime he wants it. I used to feel the same, but then we had a kid. And then another kid. Now I think it should be booked into the calendar at least a month in advance.
This has led to some slight marital discord. Between his work schedule and my blog schedule and sleepless nights and mood swings and periods and business trips and everything else life throws at us, even the month notice sometimes isn’t enough.
I’ve been struggling to try to find a way to resolve our differing opinions and reach a common ground, but with no luck. But that’s all about to change. The Bathroom Agreement story in the book I Just Want to Be Alone gave me a great idea. What if I draw up a little contract with some rules of engagement? We’ll read, sign and voilá: problem solved.
I’ll only get one chance at this, so I need to make sure I get it just right. What better way to make sure than to share it with the world on the internet, right? Right?!?! So here it is, The Bedroom Agreement, Version 1.0. If I missed anything, leave it in the comments:
Clause 1: This agreement covers all attempted sexual relations that take place in the bedroom. It doesn’t cover any other locations because there are no other locations. We have kids, you moron, and if you try and horn in on my 2 minutes of shower time, I will cut you with my Lady Bic razor.
Clause 2: This agreement in no way guarantees that any sexual relations will take place.
Clause 3: If you think that things are looking up for you at any point in time, refer back to Clause 2.
Clause 4: Exhibiting any of the following behaviors will result in an immediate forfeiture of bedroom rights for the foreseeable future:
a) Placement of icy cold hands between sleeping wife’s butt cheeks.
b) Causing wife to pass out due to an influx of noxious fumes.
c) Giggling over said noxious fumes.
d) Attempting to claim any additional space in the bed while wife is up at 3am taking someone to the potty.
e) Dancing in front of the mirror in your underwear and then asking if your wife wants to “check out the rocket in your pocket.”
f) Insinuating in any manner, purposefully or not, that your wife has put on some extra weight.
g) Pointing out to your wife that you last put on weight in 1995.
Clause 5: Exhibiting any of the following behaviors will result in a highly increased likelihood of “getting some nookie”:
a) Complimenting your wife on her hair on a day when she actually brushed her hair.
b) Complimenting your wife on her clothing without mentioning the dirty yoga pants she normally wears.
c) Remembering and doing something for any of the following holidays: wife’s birthday, Mother’s Day or anniversary.
d) Getting up in the middle of the night to deal with a kid without wife having to kick you.
Clause 6: There will be no morning sex. At least not until the kids are teenagers. I will not set an alarm so that you can “start your day off on the right foot.”
Clause 7: Dereliction of household duties immediately following dinner will result in you being sent back to start, regardless of any other progress made over the course of the day.
Clause 8: Taking over household duties following dinner and actually doing them right will earn you brownie points you can cash in later.
Clause 9: Pinching my butt may sometimes be acceptable.
Clause 10: But teaching the kids to “pinch mommy’s big booty” is never acceptable.
Clause 11: Waiting for the right moment to catch me unaware, sweep me off my feet and onto the bed and whispering sweet nothings in my ear … that will work every time.
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Lynn Morrison is a smart-ass American raising two prim princesses with her obnoxiously skinny Italian husband in Oxford, England. Born and raised in the Deep American South, Lynn avoided becoming mired in the Mississippi mud by escaping to go to college in California. Had she known that the move would eventually lead to marriage to a nerdy Italian, she might have chosen a mud mask instead. After a long day of struggling to remember to say “chap” instead of “y’all” or “dude,” Lynn likes nothing better than to curl up with her Macbook and a glass of wine and write thought-provoking essays on why sweatpants are the new black or why it is impossible to suck it in for eight hours.