And when romance is not a dozen red roses
At work today:
Co-worker, female, 30, married, one child: I can’t believe I told my girlfriends I didn’t want to go out on Saturday. I told them it was too late.
Work friend, 40s, married, two kids: Yeah, that happens.
CW-30: But 8:00! I was in bed at 8:00! I can’t believe I have reached the stage of my life where I would rather sleep than go out with my friends.
Me: I would rather sleep than have sex.
CW-30: I – uh. I guess I have not reached that stage yet.
WF-40s: You will.
WF-40s: Amateur. She’ll learn.
Me: She probably thinks I’m a terrible wife to my husband.
WF-40s: She just doesn’t know yet.
Me: My husband is HOT. I adore him. I think he’s fabulous. He had to fly to Los Angeles for work this morning, but last night, he took the car and put gas in it and put air in the tires. He always takes care of the litter box. He does all the vacuuming and all the laundry. It’s not that I don’t think he’s hot and it’s not like I am pushing him away.
WF-40s: It’s that you are both exhausted. Both of you!
WF-40s: I’m so tired that I would be willing to outsource that.
Me: I told Marido he could have an affair if he just wouldn’t run for public office. Or he could buy a new car. But the affair would have been cheaper.
WF-40s: I just want to sleep. I don’t care about fancy dinners or flowers. Those young women who complain about Valentine’s day?
Me: I know! You know what’s the hottest thing Marido did for me recently? I was watching TV. He walked past me with a rag and a spray bottle and said, “One of the cats just threw up on the rug. I’ll clean it.”
WF-40s: That’s pretty romantic.
Me: I know.