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It’s Mario Time

Two professional women: both married with kids and both juggling clients, reports, potty training, packed lunches, chores, dogs, cats, errands, husbands and …”what was that you said? SEX?”
That three-letter word that once was so frequent, so liberating, so yummy has been sidelined in a sea of life, work and snot.
It is time.
Time to put sex back on a pedestal by injecting some extra spice into our relationships.

It’s Mario Time

I had two worries heading into this week. One, how little my eyes might look on the Katie Show because I was smiling so big. Two, how I was going to prevent any olive oil stains. Plenty of my maternity clothes feature grease stains on the northern hemisphere of my belly from french fries, Twisted Root burgers and dipped bread from Carrabba’s, so I know it’s pretty much impossible to get them out once they set.

I keep the balsamic in the drawer, just in case.

I keep the balsamic in the drawer, just in case.

My first thought was to lay a shower curtain down, but my shower curtain liners are riddled with mildew right now – I’m surprised O, the woman who cleans the house every other week, is willing to even come having seen the cesspool that lurks behind my Ballard Designs curtain. My second thought (for two seconds) was to disregard the mess and blend Mission 31 with the massage mission I still haven’t fulfilled. Then, Mr. Lee presented the perfect solution in a daytime text.

The week he was off for the fishing trip, he had the first chance since he’s joined the force to substantially grow his facial hair. He looks fabulous with facial hair, or as Lee 2 disdainfully refers to it, with whiskers. But, in at last returning to work, he was forced to shave. As a throwback to the mustache he donned before we went to Hawaii on our babymoon because I suggested he play Magnum P.I., he sent me a text featuring what remained after he had shaved his beard. The picture showed the ultimate cop mustache, as well as the unfortunate cold sore Mr. Lee had been fretting about on his bottom lip. Therein, he created the exact lack of desire that might have made olive oil necessary in the bedroom – I’m a scientist here, I require proper conditions for these experiments.

When I came home, I was shocked to find that the mustache was even worse in person. When he took off his baseball hat, his too long hair gave him a striking resemblance to Kip Dynamite.

However, he had folded all of the laundry, taken Lee 1 to get a new baseball bat, finished the week’s kindergarten homework, kept the house relatively clean, somewhat fixed Lee 2’s hair in a ponytail, and let Lee 3 sleep in until 11:30 a.m. (ridiculous). Despite the extra mouth accoutrements, he had definitely earned the right go on a mission, especially one I wasn’t primed for.

I grabbed the Kroger Extra Virgin Olive Oil and drew him to the bedroom, only noticing then that he was wearing my old T-shirt from Texas Girls’ State that reads, “A woman’s place is in the House, or in the Senate.” Now that’s a man worth treating.

I guess it works on some, but this stash was a bit porn star for me. Well, for both of us. He shaved shortly after.

I guess it works on some, but this stash was a bit porn star for me. Well, for both of us. He shaved shortly after.

My final solution to the looming peril of the mess was a bath towel and a quick, if greasy, pre-application. In meeting Mr. Lee’s eyes, the smell of the olive oil overwhelmed me and I laughed out loud realizing he looked exactly like Mario from my most beloved Wii diversion. He laughed in return with me and exclaimed, “Fantastico!”

That it was. And note, if you try this at home, keep in mind that stuff comes out fast. The OLIVE OIL you gutter rats!

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