Never Mind ...

I spent Easter week (and week-end) chatting up friends and family about what is or should be "typical" with regard to my oft-discussed sexual problem. (For you newbies: lack of frequency.)

I love my husband; I really do. He's created an amazing life for me and for our children, and he puts up with just about all of my quirks. Plus, he tolerates the family. And I know you know what that's worth. It's just that I was, let's say, desiring something more than what I've been getting when it comes to sex.

So what I found out this week was surprising, and a little painful. Apparently, three-to-four times weekly is right where we ought to be "at our age" and with kids the ages our kids are (three and five), and I'M the one with the problem. My sister actually struck me on the arm ("What are you, a freakin' rabbit?"). That was the "pain" part of the revelation.

So that's it. No more complaining. And a big jucy porterhouse this evening for the man of the house. It seems he's earned it.