Covid Kama Sutra

Hi, my handsome husband. 

I bet I know what YOU want for Father’s Day.  I’m sure it’s what a lot of men quarantined with their wives want.  Surely, we’re not the only ones whose sex life has been on lock-down. But tonight, honey, we are full Phase One.  Father’s Day is going to be your night.

I see it all happening for us, like a movie: Smooth jazz playing in the background, our bedroom lit by the flicker of softly glowing candles.  You’re in bed as I make my way into the room, posing with my arm on the doorjamb, seductively lifted over my head…oh wait, cut. Cut the arm lifting.  My armpits look like Chewbacca.  Laser hair removal has been closed because it’s not an essential business.  Not an essential business?  What kind of monster is making these decisions??? Let’s do a retake. Take two.

I make my way into the room, clad in my finest, scantiest lingerie. Oops. All lingerie still in the city due to our hasty retreat and a really bad packing job because you were yelling at me that the car was double-parked. Not to mention you were honking the horn. So instead, I will make my way into the room clad in my Delta Gamma tee shirt, circa 1986, the one with the holes and the hash pipe stain.  Take three.

I saunter toward you, running my fingers through my long silky hair.  Ugh, cut again.  Going to have to edit “long silky hair” to “hair with the texture of muesli.”  Trying to run my fingers through it after 13 weeks in quarantine could mean losing a finger.  Are you there, keratin? It’s me, Jackie.  Take four.

I come close to the bed and purse my lips…oh boy, that’s not going to work either because you know I have to wear my TMJ mouth guard to bed to stop me from grinding my teeth. And yes, I am very aware that the mouth guard looks like what boxers wear in the ring.  And yes, it is supposed to be this big.  It is NOT as big as a snorkel.  That is insulting and makes me feel unsexy.  Take five.

I slip into bed, moving toward you, and suddenly plummet into the very deep crater my body has made in the mattress.  Definitely have gained a few.  I’m going to need a hand to get out of this. Take six.

I blow out the candle on the nightstand and pull the silken covers over us and… Holy moly, what a hot flash! Mother of G-d, holy shit, holy shit… AM I ON FIRE??!!!  Get those covers OFF OF ME!!!! Take seven.

We look deeply in each other’s eyes, grateful for this moment and excited for what is to come.  I gracefully reach back towards the nightstand, never unlocking my gaze from yours, grasping an as-yet unseen item from the drawer. Slowly, I reveal…a wad of Extra-Strength Clorox wipes with which I begin to vigorously scrub you down.  I mean, I saw you open like ten Amazon packages today. Take eight.

Well, like a lot of Hollywood productions, this movie is over-budget and not testing well with audiences, especially the audience consisting of our children.  I was worried this might not work out, so I wrote you a beautiful Father’s Day card honoring the dad and man you are to this family.  I’d like to read it to you now as you lay in this bed amid all this smooth jazz and candlelight.  Just pass me my reading glasses. 

No, not those.  Those are my regular….  

No, those are your reading glasses.  

NO! Those are my sunglasses! 

Well, I would if these were the sunglasses with my prescription but those are still in the city.  

You were honking.  

Never mind the card. I don’t need a card to say I love you.  You are the best dad, husband and friend.  And I really do love you.

I really love you.

‘I said, “I REALLY DO LOVE YOU.”’

Oh boy.  Somebody is getting old.

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