Hallway Sex and Eyebrows
There was a comedian once who said there were three kinds of sex: living room sex, bedroom sex, and hallway sex. Living room sex was when you were new to the relationship and you couldn't wait to get naked. Bedroom sex was after you were married and you could only have quickies in the bedroom with the lights off and the door locked so the kids don't see. Hallway sex is after you've been married for a while, you pass each other in the hallway and say "fuck you!" "Fuck you, too!"
Ben and I had hallway sex yesterday.
It started Sunday night. We were sitting on the couch watching the tube, unwinding from the weekend, and Ben starts gnoshing on some Pringles. Anyone who has eaten Pringles knows they can be messy, unless you're a Stuff The Whole Chip In Your Mouth sort, which Ben, gratefully, is not. So his gnoshing resulted in quite a few crumbs on the floor--the two biggest of which I picked up and placed on the coffee table. Before we went to bed, I said, "don't forget your crumbs," and he said "I'll take care of them tomorrow, I'll vaccuum the rug." So I left them there, wanting to see if they would, indeed, be taken care of.
In the bullshit-filled day that was yesterday, I totally forgot the crumbs. Until I was putting on my shoes to go to the gym. There they were, still on the coffee table, untouched. The rug had, to his credit, been vaccuumed, but those original two fucking crumbs were still right there.
"Beeeeennn!" (That's my whiny yell.) "You didn't get your crumbs!"
Maybe he'd had a bad day, himself. Maybe he was pissed because I didn't walk in and start applauding his vaccuuming job. Maybe he's just tired of hearing me bitch all the time. Whatever it was, he didn't just let my comment roll off his back like usual. He turned Mr. Defensive. "It's a couple of fucking crumbs, it's not a big fucking deal."
You can probably guess what happened next. Mr. Defensive sparked Ms. FuckOffAndDie, and we went to the gym pissed. The argument over whether or not I had the right to be pissed over a couple of errant Pringles crumbs left on the coffee table escalated in the car during the 3-minute drive to the gym, and he ended up stomping off without me. Fine, bitch. I don't need you. I've got my gym jams and calories to burn.
Only we were there at 5:30 on a Monday and it was, to say the least, packed. There were two elliptical machines left--the one Ben grabbed, and the one Right Next To Him. Ugh. So I reluctantly got on that one. Then discovered my Walkman didn't have a CD in it. No gym jams. And if I chanced going back to my car for a CD, I risked coming back to find every machine in the place occupied. FUCK. So I tried to ellipticize next to my husband, at whom I was seriously pissed, who was seriously pissed at me, without tunes. Yeah, that wasn't going to work. So after about 3 minutes, I noticed the bike I prefer was free, and I jumped off the elliptical and ran to it.
I biked. And I biked. And I glared at him from across the gym. And I waited for another elliptical to free up, but as soon as they did, some other vulture would jump on. Finally a treadmill opened up and I grabbed it. After 15 minutes of that, I decided to get back on the bike, so when one freed up, I grabbed it. All this without tunes, while He Who Was the Object of My Wrath happily ellipticalled along, going way past the 30 minute time limit (during peak use hours). For a minute I considered telling the Gym Nazi that "that dude has been on way longer than 30 minutes, and I've been waiting patiently, could you tell him to get off?" But I decided that would be low even for me. So I biked, and waited for him to finish. Finally, I got off the bike (having burned my quota of calories), got my stuff from the floor in front of his machine, and went downstairs to wait. After a few minutes, I went back upstairs, stood in front of him, and gave him the "are you fucking done yet?" look, to which he held up one finger. (No, not that finger, or I'd have left him there. The "one more minute" finger.) I rolled my eyes and went back downstairs.
The argument continued, escalating to him saying "you didn't have to be such a bitch about it" and slamming the bathroom door. It ended with me saying "I'm ordering Chinese, you want anything?" and him apologizing for calling me a bitch.
I think hallway sex can be good for a relationship. I mean, if you can't have the occasional good pissing match with the person you love, who can you fight with? And in the event things don't cool off within a reasonable time, any good relationship can be salvaged with just one episode of "Wife Swap."
As for eyebrows, I'm having issues with mine. See, I always had great eyebrows. Perfect eyebrows. I didn't have to pluck or wax or fill in. Then when I was pregnant with Bob, I did a show that was supposed to be a World War II USO revue. And our director was a hateful bitch who made the two females in the show pluck the shit out of our eyebrows and draw them back on a'la the Andrews Sisters. My eyebrows haven't been the same since. They grew back in all funky and misshapen. I plucked the shit out of them when I went blonde a couple of years ago. And now they're a mess. I dyed my hair a darker shade of brown over the weekend, and my eyebrows all but disappeared. Could it be that this new haircolor necessitates...darker eyebrows? Perish the thought! But I gave it a whirl and took the pencil to them this morning, and honestly, it looks better--although I've now determined I just don't have the right skin tone for hair this dark. Dammit.
I just hope I don't forget and rub my forehead, lest I smear eyebrow all over my face. That would be a nice look.
Ben and I had hallway sex yesterday.
It started Sunday night. We were sitting on the couch watching the tube, unwinding from the weekend, and Ben starts gnoshing on some Pringles. Anyone who has eaten Pringles knows they can be messy, unless you're a Stuff The Whole Chip In Your Mouth sort, which Ben, gratefully, is not. So his gnoshing resulted in quite a few crumbs on the floor--the two biggest of which I picked up and placed on the coffee table. Before we went to bed, I said, "don't forget your crumbs," and he said "I'll take care of them tomorrow, I'll vaccuum the rug." So I left them there, wanting to see if they would, indeed, be taken care of.
In the bullshit-filled day that was yesterday, I totally forgot the crumbs. Until I was putting on my shoes to go to the gym. There they were, still on the coffee table, untouched. The rug had, to his credit, been vaccuumed, but those original two fucking crumbs were still right there.
"Beeeeennn!" (That's my whiny yell.) "You didn't get your crumbs!"
Maybe he'd had a bad day, himself. Maybe he was pissed because I didn't walk in and start applauding his vaccuuming job. Maybe he's just tired of hearing me bitch all the time. Whatever it was, he didn't just let my comment roll off his back like usual. He turned Mr. Defensive. "It's a couple of fucking crumbs, it's not a big fucking deal."
You can probably guess what happened next. Mr. Defensive sparked Ms. FuckOffAndDie, and we went to the gym pissed. The argument over whether or not I had the right to be pissed over a couple of errant Pringles crumbs left on the coffee table escalated in the car during the 3-minute drive to the gym, and he ended up stomping off without me. Fine, bitch. I don't need you. I've got my gym jams and calories to burn.
Only we were there at 5:30 on a Monday and it was, to say the least, packed. There were two elliptical machines left--the one Ben grabbed, and the one Right Next To Him. Ugh. So I reluctantly got on that one. Then discovered my Walkman didn't have a CD in it. No gym jams. And if I chanced going back to my car for a CD, I risked coming back to find every machine in the place occupied. FUCK. So I tried to ellipticize next to my husband, at whom I was seriously pissed, who was seriously pissed at me, without tunes. Yeah, that wasn't going to work. So after about 3 minutes, I noticed the bike I prefer was free, and I jumped off the elliptical and ran to it.
I biked. And I biked. And I glared at him from across the gym. And I waited for another elliptical to free up, but as soon as they did, some other vulture would jump on. Finally a treadmill opened up and I grabbed it. After 15 minutes of that, I decided to get back on the bike, so when one freed up, I grabbed it. All this without tunes, while He Who Was the Object of My Wrath happily ellipticalled along, going way past the 30 minute time limit (during peak use hours). For a minute I considered telling the Gym Nazi that "that dude has been on way longer than 30 minutes, and I've been waiting patiently, could you tell him to get off?" But I decided that would be low even for me. So I biked, and waited for him to finish. Finally, I got off the bike (having burned my quota of calories), got my stuff from the floor in front of his machine, and went downstairs to wait. After a few minutes, I went back upstairs, stood in front of him, and gave him the "are you fucking done yet?" look, to which he held up one finger. (No, not that finger, or I'd have left him there. The "one more minute" finger.) I rolled my eyes and went back downstairs.
The argument continued, escalating to him saying "you didn't have to be such a bitch about it" and slamming the bathroom door. It ended with me saying "I'm ordering Chinese, you want anything?" and him apologizing for calling me a bitch.
I think hallway sex can be good for a relationship. I mean, if you can't have the occasional good pissing match with the person you love, who can you fight with? And in the event things don't cool off within a reasonable time, any good relationship can be salvaged with just one episode of "Wife Swap."
As for eyebrows, I'm having issues with mine. See, I always had great eyebrows. Perfect eyebrows. I didn't have to pluck or wax or fill in. Then when I was pregnant with Bob, I did a show that was supposed to be a World War II USO revue. And our director was a hateful bitch who made the two females in the show pluck the shit out of our eyebrows and draw them back on a'la the Andrews Sisters. My eyebrows haven't been the same since. They grew back in all funky and misshapen. I plucked the shit out of them when I went blonde a couple of years ago. And now they're a mess. I dyed my hair a darker shade of brown over the weekend, and my eyebrows all but disappeared. Could it be that this new haircolor necessitates...darker eyebrows? Perish the thought! But I gave it a whirl and took the pencil to them this morning, and honestly, it looks better--although I've now determined I just don't have the right skin tone for hair this dark. Dammit.
I just hope I don't forget and rub my forehead, lest I smear eyebrow all over my face. That would be a nice look.
posted by Mitzi Green at 7:20 AM
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