It was bad
enough that Smartmom put herself out there in her
column two weeks ago
, writing about her “old married couple”
sex life with hubby Hepcat — and then openly discussing her plan
to get a room at the Brooklyn Marriott for a Valentine’s Day tryst.
Now Dumb Editor wants a follow-up. No surprise, all of Smartmom’s
friends did, too.
So how did it go? We’ll get to that.
First, the gripes. One friend took exception to the piece.
“My husband would have me drawn and quartered if I talked about our
sex life in a newspaper,” she said.
But she had no trouble talking to Smartmom about it in depth. Of course
not: She and her husband engage quite frequently in the carnal arts and
crafts. Or so she said.
Yes, once she broke through the condom of silence, Smartmom found herself
inundated with e-mails from married friends eager to inform her —
make that rub it in — that their sex lives are quite lively.
OK, so everyone is getting some except Smartmom. Great. What was worse,
Hepcat came down with a nasty cold and it looked like all Smartmom would
get on Valentine’s Day was a rain-check and a dirty Kleenex.
Hepcat spent the weekend in a black terrycloth bathrobe looking like Leo
DiCaprio as Howard Hughes without the tissue boxes on his feet.
Smartmom had a nasty cold, too. But being the good mother and wife, she
didn’t milk it for all it was worth the way Hepcat did (he acted
like he’d been hit by a Fresh Direct truck).
Smartmom, however, was making hourly treks to Seventh Avenue for his echinacea
supplements, the hot and spicy coconut milk soup from Lemongrass Grill,
and mass quantities of pomegranate juice from Back to the Land.
Still, Smartmom held out hope that Hepcat (or at least crucial organs)
would recuperate in time for the couple’s secluded rendez-vous.
Meanwhile, Smartmom bided her time with the sizzling e-mails. O, joy!
“Just wanted to report that this married couple still manages to
have our sex and eat it, too,” wrote one of her Gaphattan friends.
“We are still at it, kids and all. Sometimes, my hubbie comes home
after I drop off the preschooler and no one is home but us: 10 a.m. sex.
Then there is the 5 am. sex. It’s all very risque, but that keeps
Smartmom was happy for her friends. She’d be even happier for them
if she actually believed it,
“Hang in there, Smartmom,” wrote another pitying friend. “Pretty
soon, the kids are old enough to run around town by themselves at (almost)
all hours, and then you can start having lots of great sex again —
except of course, when you’re waiting up all night for them, but
you can’t have sex because you don’t know what time they’re
going to sneak in from wherever they’ve gone to have sex, and you
don’t want to get caught by your kid.”
One friend was so excited about her sex life that she called Smartmom,
hyperventilating like a teenager in a backseat: “I didn’t know
you were doing an article about sex. Why didn’t you interview me?”
Mostly, she just wanted Smartmom to know that, while she and her husband
are not “frequent flyers” in the sex department, they do have
their kinky moments.
Such as? Oh, like the time recently when they tried to have sex in the
bathroom while their 4-year old was watching her “Little Mermaid”
DVD a few rooms away.
Modest readers may want to skip this juicy paragraph: Apparently, the
couple had such difficulty getting into a comfortable non-missionary position
on the floor, against the sink, or on the toilet seat that their little
sexual escapade devolved into orgasms of laughter only.
All of this talk about her friend’s sex life, a rich and previously
undiscovered country, got Smartmom randy for a little hanky-panky with
Hepcat. But as is usually the case when you want it bad, things weren’t
So, you’re all wondering, what happened on the big night?
Well, early on Valentine’s Day, Smartmom remembered that she’d
forgotten to ask Babysitterandsomuchmore to stay late. Unfortunately she
had already promised her daughters that she’d baby-sit for them.
So much for the Marriott or dinner out or…
Then Smartmom remembered that they had their bi-monthly “couple’s
therapy” session at 5:50 (how romantic). They call it their “tune-up”
and consider themselves lifers in the therapy department (“Saves
on emergency room bills,” says Hepcat, somewhat facetiously).
So on Valentine’s evening, they sat in their therapist’s cozy
brownstone office discussing why they weren’t at the Marriott having
sex. By session’s end, it was decided that they’d put the kids
to bed early — after American Idol, before House — and do “it”
with the radio on.
And that’s sort of what happened. Afterwards, a sated Smartmom lay
awake feeling like a sex-crazed 35-year-old, and thought about why she
and Hepcat make so little time for one of the great pleasures of life.
Is it really just a matter of inconvenience, or are Hepcat and Smartmom
letting their careers, pressure from Dumb Editor, money worries, the children,
the neighbors, the size of their apartment and their cumulative stress
get in the way of their marriage?
How did sex get so low on the “to-do” list — just below
“Parents as Reading partners” meetings and just above the monthly
shift at the Food Coop?
Valentine’s Day or not, Smartmom and Hepcat made a vow to bring some
pleasure into their lives. Maybe on their anniversary in July, they’ll
make it to a hotel. Even better, maybe one day soon, Smartmom will just
blow off her deadline, call Hepcat in the middle of the day and say, “Wanna
meet me at the Marriott?”
©2006 Community News Group