I feel like I’m a teenager again. Only much more irresponsible than I ever was. Not something I did way back when, or ever had to contend with.
The Grumpy one and I attempted some adult time. Not drinking sophisticated wines and discussing politics and doing sensible growed up things. In The Bed Adult time. Given that I have yet to find the time to book my appointment for a pap smear and IUD insertion with my Ob/Gyn when Chippie is 3 months old (um, over 3 months ago now) we have resorted to alternative methods of contraception. Abstinence has played a HUGE part in this, but hubby also braved the purchase of condoms at the supermarket.
And uses this to show me how little sex we are having, along the lines of “I bought them a month ago and we’ve only used one”. So, off we go and when the job was finished Grumpy goes off to do his thing and says “I can’t find it?”
Find what? I think. Because the alternative of actually accepting what he can’t find is just far too traumatic for me to contemplate. Argh!
“Well, where did you leave it?” I ask. Oh, god. I never had this issue as a teen. Or any other time in my life. I’m far to old and responsible – I’m a Mother for fuck’s sake! – to be dealing with these issues.
I’m well aware of the stupidness of this question, as I throw the doona off and begin searching the bed.
There’s only one place left for it to be. I retreat to the bathroom, close the door firmly behind me and begin the search. Not easy to do when you can’t actually look to see where it may be. I’m not that flexible anymore.
I can’t find it. I articlate this and have visions of me lying on the bed, legs akimbo and Grumpy with a flashlight and set of tongs. I go back to the bathroom and commence the deep cave search again. And I locate the wayward latex sheath.
Thank goodness for that. But I really, really