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Eyebrow Raises and the Art of Mid-Week Sex

I stretch out on the couch and nudge her with my foot. She looks over at me from her laptop more annoyed than amorous.

“You umm, you wanna get busy,” I ask raising my eyebrows a couple times.

She glances at the time on her laptop, “I have to be up in 6-hours,” she replies.

“So is that a maybe,” I ask pumping my brows a few more times.

I mean, how could that not put someone in the mood, right? For twenty-years that has been my go to seduction move… “Hey, you wanna get busy?” followed by the eyebrow pump. I suppose, it is the equivalent of Joey Tribiani’s, “How you Doin’?” Or the unfortunate Jersey Shore, “Wanna go to the smush room?” It worked on her when she was a freshman in college, and it was the catalyst that produced two very cute babies… but to be very honest with you, this tired move has done nothing for me lately. I’m sure the only reason I even get to have sex is pity. Also I have a strong back and I can pick her up and… You know what, I should probably save the rest of that for another time.

The very next night I thought I’d try the romantic approach.

“Hey, wanna go to dinner?” I ask hopefully.

“Where,” she asks looking at me with a furrowed brow.

She’s already onto my scam. She’s looking right through me.

“There’s this new place in Midtown that sounds really nice.”

“On a school night, the girls will be…”

I cut her off and put my hands on her waist, “Just us. The girls can stay with my mom.”

“It’s a Thursday night,” she complains. “I’m too tired to go out to dinner. I had two presentations today, and I have to prepare for two more, and I have a meeting at seven in the morning.”

Shut down. Locked out. Denied.

I admit it was bad timing on my part.

I’ll try again on Saturday night I think to myself. Saturday nights are made for love—also for getting busy… (Eyebrow pump).

Hmmm, a trip to Costco for flowers and a bottle of Proseco might get me to the Promised Land. I make a note in my phone: Costco-Flowers-Proseco-Sex.

I make my Costco run that same day and clean the house. Later, I receive a text from my best friend asking if I already have plans for the weekend. “Yes,” I reply. “Saturday is sex night!!!!!” However, what I did not anticipate was that I was much closer to my goal of getting busy than I thought. You see, you can invest in sexy underwear, or get a nice hotel room with a veranda overlooking the pool, but sometimes it’s just that perfect storm of being a good husband that drops panties.

I hear her keys in the door, and she walks in the house setting her bag down. I jump up, give her a smooch and head back to the couch. With the few precious minutes of privacy left after scrubbing toilets and dusting, I decided to catch up on NCIS.

“It smells so good in here,” she says sniffing the air.

“Yeah, I made some Chicken and Mole’. It’s in the crockpot—my Grandma’s recipe. Doesn’t it smell awesome?”

“Mhmm,” she mumbles, shuffling through the mail.

“Oh hey, did you put gas in my car?” She asks with a bit of confusion.

“Yeah, last night,” I say. “You were on empty and I knew you had an early meeting and wouldn’t have time.” I yell after her as she walks into the kitchen, “I figured out this episode already. The wife did it.”

“Did you clean the kitchen?”

“I did. There was a major smoothie incident this morning so I just figured I’d clean everything top to bottom.”

“Oh snap!” I yell. “I’m wrong. The wife didn’t do it; she’s got an alibi.”

“Is this a new rug?” she asks sitting next to me on the couch.

“Yeah, I was at TJ Maxx today and it was on sale for sixteen bucks!” I say through a mouthful of popcorn. “Wait, her alibi isn’t panning out…”

She kicks off her shoes and feels it. “It’s soft—I really like it,” she says moving her feet onto the couch.

She reaches out and touches my face. “You trimmed your beard,” she says stroking my cheek.

“Yeah, it was looking pretty scraggly,” I say reaching for my drink. “Uh oh, Special Agent Gibbs is in the interrogation room. You’re so screwed lady!” my voice muffled by the handful of popcorn I shove into my mouth.

“How long are the girls at my mom’s for?” she asks, putting her legs across mine.

“I dunno,” I say looking at my watch. “I’d say maybe another hour? Ha! Gibbs has her on the ropes baby… she’s gonna give it up!”

My wife reaches out and puts her hand on my leg.

“Oh it was the wife! I knew it. Didn’t I say it was the wife, Baby?”

And yes, after the anvil fell on my head, we did get busy.

Twenty years of marriage and I finally figured out what it… no, actually I still don’t know what it takes. However, this particular time it took a perfect storm of good husbanding. Well, it’s more than that really. It’s caring about the things that make life easier for her. It’s making sure she has a few minutes of unfettered downtime. It’s being her safe harbor after a long day of work.

So, has that stopped my go to move of eyebrow raises, and the eternally seductive question, “Wanna get busy?” Nah, of course not because I’m kinda stupid. But will I make sure her tank is topped off, the crockpot is rolling and the kids are at Grandma’s on a Friday evening when she gets home from a long day? Seriously! Were you even listening? You bet your ass I will!

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