Kelly Oxford, the intolerably adorable Canadian housewife who scored a television development deal from her Twitter feed, has an essay in the new issue of GQ — and I think it’s something anyone who’s ever been in a relationship for longer than five minutes can relate to.
She writes:
New sex partner = new sex, and new sex = lots of sex. That’s sex math. You’re in the kitchen making pasta sauce—bam!—you’re having sex on the floor. You’re parking the car in the garage—bam—you’re having sex in the car. But inevitably, invariably, it wears off. Soon all your conversations, once so filled with erotic promise, are about bills and barfy kids and how that swollen knee makes your leg look like Jackie Gleason’s.
Then, one night, she’s sitting next to you on the couch, perfecting her mock-Piers Morgan accent, when she stops and says, “Man, I really want a Slurpee.” Meaning, of course: “Will you go get me a Slurpee?” But by now you’re way past the white-knight stage of the relationship, so you don’t budge. And then it occurs to her.
“Will you get me a Slurpee if I give you a blow job?”
…
Sex bartering has been a part of my married life for so long that it’s hard to believe there are couples who haven’t thought of this yet. Now when I see a father at the water park with three young children and no mother in sight, I no longer think, “What a cool dad” or “How sad—widowed so young.” Instead I think, “That guy’s getting fucked for hours tonight.”
I had an ex who would often send me out in the middle of the night for “bomb pops,” but I rarely, if ever, received any sexual favors in return. NEVER. AGAIN.
(Photo via Flickr)