There comes a point when talking about sex that you just have to stop talking. Sex is fabulous, sex is fun, sex is liberating, sex is a stress reliever, sex is sexy but sex isn’t something that everyone wants to talk about ALL OF THE TIME. At least mostly everyone. There are always exceptions. A couple of weeks ago, Miss Lee and I went into overdrive talking about it: on TV, with friends, with family, with co workers, with business acquaintances, with crappy bank managers (more about them another time) – we ran the gamut of people with whom we talked sex. It was a riot. It was a miniature Mission: Do It frenzy that piqued like a glorious orgasm and then that post-pique exhaustion kicked in and all I wanted to do was curl up and sleep. That has been me the last two weeks: curled up post coital (in a figurative sense) unable to string a sentence together about sex. The O It’s Magic and Role Play Missions came and went (achieved the former, failed miserably with the latter: at least I picked the one with the best outcome) and when this mission kicked in last week I breathed a small sigh of relief. Yes, let’s just make ourselves feel pretty – no agenda, no craziness – just simply to feel pretty. We all need that in our lives from time to time.
The fancy schmancy wedding that Miss Lee referred to was definitely a good starting point. There is nothing like a beautiful wedding to make you feel beautiful. I adore weddings – it’s a chance to love love in all of its glory. I expect to cry at every wedding. There is only one I have ever been to that I didn’t shed one tear - turns out the groom was a douchebag. My tear ducts obviously were clued in to that bad omen. At the wedding two weeks ago I was crying when Grandma walked down the aisle, so by the time the bride made her entrance I was a goner. It’s a good omen for the happy couple. As my eyes were weeping their happy tears, my feet were sparkling in all of their glory. Even Miss Lee, who normally chooses a smart ass comment over a compliment, was suitably wowed by my footwear. It was a good night all round, the Duke looked hot, I drank wine – happiness reigned supreme.
Fast forward to a few days ago: lo and behold a date night. These happen so rarely that when they do the anticipation of them can sometimes be so overbearing that the Duke and I end up griping at each other. It’s as though we have to make it amazing to justify paying the babysitter and when it isn’t amazing (because we are knackered, overworked and ready for bed at 9pm) then we find ourselves becoming irritable. Not a great recipe for a date night. This time we consciously took our expectations down a notch and joy of joys it worked. We chatted and drank, we watched a transponder blow up at the restaurant across the road, we chatted some more, we watched the police arrive, we drank some more. It was perfect. And all while I was wearing some beads that were on loan to me from a fabulous designer in Dallas. They made me feel pretty. I could twirl them with one hand while drinking wine with the other – multitasking at its finest. But what was the best was the uninterrupted time that the Duke and I had together. When he and I are on the same page and having fun together, that’s when I feel the prettiest. I don’t need sparkly shoes or twirly beads to make myself feel pretty. They’re just accessories. He does that beautifully by himself.