Ask, and Ye Shall …

… get your stupid ass kicked, that’s what.

Sorry. I need a minute to get hold of myself. There; that’s better. It’s just that I recently agreed to dog-sit my favorite Aunt’s mini wiener dog – to the complete and utter delight of my kids, and to the utter horror of my husband – and there was a bit of a firestorm.

“Is the dog there now?” He phoned from work, knowing full well that, yes, the dog was in the house. “You know,” he continued, “I don’t recall being asked.”

And that was when I lost it. “Asked?” Was he kidding? Because, if that’s how it works, my life just got a whole lot simpler. He’s never “asked” if I’d like to do the dishes, wash his underpants, clean the house, make his dinners or perform any one of several dozen assorted sexual acts. (Okay, he may have asked for some of those.)

But seriously: I was ready to crush him like a bug. And then I had an inspiration.

“Sweetheart,” I said gently, “no one is going to love you any less just because there’s an adorable little beastie in our house. The children are happy, I’m happy, and we’re doing a very small favor for the woman who – if you recall – brought us together.” I paused for emphasis, and then went on. “And just for your information, we don’t have to ask each other for this sort of thing. I trust you with all sorts of decisions, and you are seldom required to reciprocate. So SUCK IT UP!”

Then I told him I loved him, announced that we were having filet mignon and roasted veggies for dinner, and hung up the phone.

In the spring, we’re getting a damn dog of our own. And I’m not freakin’ asking!

"Shaking hands with the bald man in the boat"

Thanks, Axe! That's the best euphemism I've ever heard for a sex act. Most of the men I've met never got past "hiding the salami." But that's men for you ...

More later ...

The Estrogen Brigade, Worldwide Edition

First of all: you naughty, naughty girls. Who knew that, out there in the quietest corners of our little world, there were women simply buzzing with the knowledge that - as Momma often said - women don't really need men, after all? (The "buzzing," as I've learned, is the sound of a dozen or so battery-powered somethings being wielded by some very determined ladies.)

I'm having some computer "issues," but I hope I'll soon be able to share with some of you the scanned images of the stuff they're asking me to welcome into my home come November 3rd. And then there's the lubes. And also the video tutorials.

But, until then, I'll just sit here, red-faced, and try to recall what in Heaven made me think that I was this open-minded, this adventurous, and this liberal. And I'll try to decide, all on my own, whether my new vibrator ought to have a separate clitoral stimulator.

Our Passion Party ...

... is set for Friday night, November 3rd. My children will be having a sleepover in the next town (lest some killjoy feel the need to phone Child Protective Services and report me), and my husband will be hiding under the bed in the Master Bedroom whilst my ladyfriends and I test-drive various and sundry "equipment" intended to scare the bejesus out of our suburban husbands.

I cannot wait. I'm serving shrimp cocktail and chocolate-covered strawberries and something with whipped cream. I'm also providing a taxi service to my girlfriends, so that they can have every bit as much fun as they'd like (and drink all of the alcohol I intend to provide for the occasion), without fear of crashing their mini-vans on the way home.

My friends "H" and "J" have announced that their husbands would like to attend, but there's no way I'm allowing that. After all, I was a virgin until I was twenty-one (that Catholic shit is hardcore), and these things require small, incremental steps. So: NO MEN. Besides, this is about women, and self-expression, and coaxing an orgasm out of your but-honey-Tiger-Woods-is-about-to-clinch-it lifepartner.

This is better than freaking Christmas ... and I haven't even seen the naughty stuff yet!

Toys, but not for Tots

Sorry that I've been MIA these last couple of weeks; the Back-to-School rollercoaster had a few extra twists in store. But I'm hoping to get myself back on a regular schedule, and to leave myself some "Mommy Time" for posting and other diversions.

The next such "diversion" is going to be an adults-only "Toy Party," which I'm planning to host in my home. This came about because - as it happens - I'm more sexually liberated in my mid-thirties than I ever was in my early twenties (read: dumb-ass self-conscious virgin), and my husband has proven himself up to the challenge. Altar boy, my ass!

I'm sure that there's an etiquette to this type of thing, and of course I can't invite just anybody in town. What would the PTA say? What would the Brownies say? What would my MOTHER say?

That's a real issue, as it turns out, because I think Mom might actually be interested in something like this ... and I'm scared shitless. Simply put: I have GOT to figure out a way to do this without having her attend. It was enough to have witnessed the PG-rated pawing that Dad subjected Mom to each night as she prepared his dinner. I don't need to know what the Modern Maturity version of sexual conduct looks like.

Nor does my Mother, whom I adore, need to watch me choose a vibrator.

Anyway, plans for "Project Orgasm" are well underway. I will keep you apprised.