“Really I’m very tired”, I said, nodding off to sleep as my husband frantically looked around the room.
“Don’t sleep! Don’t sleep”, he came shrieking back to bed. “Do you want tonight to go without it? It won’t take long”.
I gave up.
“Okay!” I said, trying to get in the mood. “Get the stuff”.
He sprang back in action and rummaged excitedly in the drawer next to him.
As the rummaging got longer, I asked,
“Honey! Is it there?”
“I swear I got a full pack and put it here last week”.
“Are you sure? You said the same about the potatoes and later you remembered that you hadn’t got them”.
He turned to me with a wild look.
“Potatoes? Are you kidding me? You’re comparing the stuff with potatoes? Gosh! You’re something else. I’m very meticulous about my bank account and this stuff”.
He began frantically searching for the stuff but didn’t find it. You would think his enthusiasm would be dampened but he came back with renewed vigor and with stars in his eyes said in his most loving manner,
“Let’s forget about the stuff tonight”.
“What?” I jumped up from my half-sleep state. “No! Do you want to become a father again?”
He was momentarily scared but then regained his composure and tried to reason with me.
“Honey! I wanted to bring it up another time but now is as good a time as ever! It’s a buzzkill”.
I narrowed my eyes.
“Get the stuff”.
“We don’t have it”, he said, looking pitiful.
“Okay then”, I said, getting cozy under the covers, “we will just have to pick another day for it”.
“No,no”, he said, almost crying, “It’s our anniversary tradition”.
“Then you should’ve thought about it”, I screamed.
“You should’ve too. It’s not fair that I’m the only one responsible for the stuff in this relationship”.
As I watched him distressed at the thought of his stupid tradition crumbling, I remembered something.
“Wait!” I said, “I think there’s one in the kitchen drawer”.
“Really?” He whispered like he had seen the pot of gold at the end of this storm.
I jumped out of bed and ran downstairs, making sure I get it all over with in fifteen minutes flat.
I opened the drawer that I suspected had my husband’s proverbial treasure. It wasn’t there. I moved things around and found a fifty percent off coupon for a facial. I stared at it, unable to believe my luck. This was like I lost a penny and found a pound. I immediately placed it in a secure place and went about looking for the stuff.
But this drawer didn’t have it. I was now starting to get a little excited at the prospect of a ready and charged husband upstairs. If truth be told, he’s a good lover and if I wasn’t usually so tired, I’d let him keep our tradition up all the time.
I bent low and opened another drawer. We don’t use this one often and therefore chances were that this could have something that we were trying to potentially keep out of our kids’ reach. A scurry of roaches escaped and I narrowly missed a earth-shattering scream emanate from my throat.
Cursing my fate at chasing an elusive chance of sex with my husband I set about looking for the condom again.
This whole exercise really brought to light the fact that when my husband accuses me of not enjoying sex as much as he does I should probably defend myself more. Now I have more material. Next time he says it I will bring up this particular instance when I scanned and searched my own house like a criminal investigator, in my bed hair, a flimsy gown tied around my waist, my lips drying out in the winter air and my nipples ready to cut glass. I’m into it just as much as him. But why the hell can’t I find the stuff?
I decided to look in the kids’ bedroom. Sometimes they take odd objects from the rest of the house to play with. I did find my bra there once. And my husband swears that he saw his mother’s dentures there too apparently. Nothing can be put past my kids. They’re the strongest team of ruffians ever created by two tame human beings as my husband and I.
The kids were sleeping like angels which is a good thing because they have walked in on us before. My husband had to hurriedly pretend that he was giving me CPR and to this day my kids tell guests the story when I had a cardiac arrest and my husband saved my life at home. Needless to say, some astute and rambunctious people have guessed it while my mother-in-law insisted that their dad was probably waking me up as I’m a super heavy sleeper.
I knocked something over. One of the kids muttered something in his sleep which sounded like a curse word that my husband uses a lot. Making a mental note to mention it to my dear husband before he so much as touched me, I proceeded to check their drawers.
“Are you here to read to us, Mommy?” Kid 1 woke up and inquired innocently.
“What? Is Mommy here?” Kid 2 woke up.
“Go back to sleep, kids!” I told them in hushed tones. “I’m just here to look for something”.
“Can you read a story to us?” Kid 2 says. He’s the peskier of the two and really clingy.
Before I could object, a book had been thrust in my hand and Kid 2 had jumped in my lap while Kid 1 put her head on my shoulder in that oh-so-endearing way that I couldn’t say no to.
Thirty minutes later and after reading the same book four times the kids were finally sleeping again. I felt my sexual energy coming back and decided to look in the study real quick.
I looked at the clock. It had been about forty five minutes since I left the room to look for the condom. I could hear sports from my room and knew my husband had taken this opportunity to watch some baseball but then that’s the most attractive thing about him. He’s a true blue boy if there ever was one and likes to watch sports and eat hamburgers.
I opened the study and stepped inside. It smelt of mold because we really don’t use it. I decided to just clean it a little and make sure I check all the drawers also for the condom but to tell you the truth, my heart was not into sex anymore. My study is so beautiful and in that moment it looked so neglected and forlorn that I decided to give it a once over.
I’m a meticulous cleaner and take pride in how I clean the crevices, nooks and crannies. I didn’t realize that the sports channel had been turned off about an hour ago. I really didn’t care. Who knows if we even had the stuff? I was a little turned off by the sex and immensely turned on by some quiet moments when I could clean without interruptions.
As I was dusting some stuff from under one of the bigger book shelves I saw a glimmer of a thin packet of something. My long lost sex drive started revving up again sensing that this could be the stuff. I inched closer to it, afraid that one wrong sweep could push it further into the depths of the bottom of the bookshelf. The packet played hard to get initially but then kinda succumbed to the sheer will of my desire to have sex that night and almost flew towards me.
I daintily pulled it out and savored this coveted piece of stuff that had been so useless to me just two hours ago when I wasn’t in the mood but had suddenly become the line to my life.
Holding the packet reverently in my hands, my eyes brimming with sexual tears and aspirations, a vision of my husband making mad animal love to me with the extra confidence from this condom added to his manhood, I thought about how this stuff is so small, yet so important in the act of making love.
Also came rushing forward the prospect of my husband’s gratitude over finding this most needed piece of equipment. His awe at my resourcefulness. His reverence for my perfect housekeeping with successful condom search thrown in for good measure.
Heady with my thoughts I made it to my room. And what do I see!
My husband was snoring loudly with his mouth hanging open, a picture of bliss and disgust at the same time. The pack of condom suddenly went limp in my hands much like my need for an animalistic rendezvous with my sexual partner tonight.
“Wake up, wake up, wake up”, it was my turn of frantic shaking of my spouse.
“What? What?” He mumbled and promptly fell back to sleep.
“I found it!” I yelled, triumphantly holding my loot in my right hand, “I found the stuff”.
“Yeah? Good girl!” He said throatily and went back to sleep again.
“Wake up, moron!” I screamed in exasperation. “Don’t you want to have sex?”
He finally took stock of the situation. His eyes, bleary and slightly red, went from the condom to my shiny sweaty face. He probably noticed some dirt marks because he reached out a finger and collected some dirt on it.
“What’s that?”
“Cleaned the house. I was looking for this and so cleaned some kitchen drawers and the study”.
He closed his eyes again, spread his arms out in a gesture of cuddling and pulled me in.
“I’m very tired. Can we do this tomorrow night?”
“What about the tradition?” I asked, bewildered.
“Hmm”, he thought for a moment, “Let’s change the tradition this year a little. It IS the year of the pandemic. Nothing’s happening how we planned it”.
“Yeah”, I sunk low in his arms, “I’m tired too. That darn study! Was filthy. So glad I got to it tonight”.
“Happy anniversary, darling”.
“Happy anniversary!” I said as I started drifting off to sleep again.
My mind as a woman 