Never one to shy away from the grossly personal (wow, why do I feel like I've said that before....), let me tell you that Husbandly One is recovering from a major injury that put our sex life on hold for the last nine months. Ask me how happy I am. Shit.
I'd like to tell you that, in my ever supportive way, I have told him that this doesn't bother me in the least, that spending my overall life with him is more important than what we actually do at any given moment. I'd like to tell you that, but who are we kidding, I'd be lying my fool face off. The last month or so I have started going slightly bonkers, saying things that actually make no sense, such as "Look, I cleaned the oven. Remember when you couldn't keep your hands off me?" Or, "I'm going to run to the store to pick up dog food. You still find me attractive, right?"
Last night, we stayed up past our bedtime to watch the Emmys and then kind of shuffled to our room. I was just settling in when he hinted that he might actually feel well enough to, umm, make me shut up.
And I was all, "DUDE, it's one o'clock in the MORNING, are you NUTS????"