It’s a well known fact that the number of romantic propositions you receive doubles after you get married. Having spoken to my mates, this is pretty common. Most of the offers are pretty easy to decline. Generally it’s only dirty old men hoping that they’ve caught you on a vulnerable day. However, there are always one or two that you wouldn’t necessarily kick out of the bed for farting if you were single. The kind of fellas that make you wish you’d brushed your hair or changed into unstained yoga pants before leaving the house. You have to choke out the word “no” while your ego and libido protest from under a layer of cobwebs as you force yourself to walk away. It’s like being an X Factor judge during the ‘ 5 chair challenge’. You loved the audition and you really want to put them through but all your seats are taken. You can’t swap them in because the crowd might turn on you. I’ve given this issue serious consideration over the years. I started researching polyamory. Basically, you stay in your primary relationship but it’s okay to sample passers-by if you get a hankering to do so. (Obviously with their consent!) I think it’s like Fight Club. You can do all sorts of mad stuff with a secondary partner but you keep it to yourselves. Okay, so polyamory might be a little bit more complex than that but that’s how I chose to interpret it. It sounds like great craic. I’ve always been a fan of a buffet. Hubby was all in favour of getting the green light to do what he liked but he was a bit funny about me having free reign. In his defense, he’s not a chauvinist. He just knows what a pervert I am and is probably worried he’d have to cover the cost of my legal defense when I’m inevitably sued for sexual harassment. I’m like a toddler. I respond well to boundaries and routine.
A lot of my married acquaintances can be a bit sanctimonious when they witness me perving at other men while we’re on a girls night out. They must have been subjected to some sort of blinding ritual following their wedding mass. I had the standard ceremony so my sight is still grand. I went on a hen weekend a few years ago and the maid of honour booked us a table in one of London’s busiest night clubs. She deliberately had us seated on what could only be described as the geriatric floor. We were forced to look at asexual ‘mathletes’ awkwardly bobbing to crap 90s music all night. I felt like I was in a golf club. She actually congratulated herself on finding us a table where we wouldn’t be “bothered by guys”. It was a bloody hen night! I had already been married for 7 years, my vagina ravaged by childbirth, not to mention the premature ageing that came with all the sleepless nights…Getting hit on and “bothered” by drunk and desperate men in a night club was the only reason I had changed out of my track bottoms and washed myself. That’s the best part of going out when you’re post natal. Creepy guys pay you compliments and you convince yourself that they’re being genuine. You go home feeling less like a mutant. Job done. Everyone’s happy… I felt robbed. I sipped my G&T angelically but I’ve still been black listed from any subsequent soirees, spa breaks and get togethers hosted by that group. They must have read the disappointment on my face. (There was a time you could convince yourself you were just being paranoid but Facebook has taken away that luxury. It bloody notifies you! Eimear, 4 of your friends are meeting at a location near you…You are not there…You were not invited…They are feeling ‘blessed’…would you like to share this on your timeline? It gets more detailed every time I update the app. I’m afraid to do a software update in case it starts telling me why I’m not invited. Eimear, your former posh friends think you are a pervert. Would you like to add this to your story?)
Seriously though, what’s the big deal? We’re all human at the end of the day. Don’t get me wrong. If you’ve been having intercourse with your other half for twenty years and he’s still the only fella you’re thinking about at ‘pivotal moments’, that’s fantastic. My husband tells me I’m literally the one and only thing he thinks about…Sweet, isn’t it? No! He’s a filthy liar. It’s no coincidence that he consistently thinks of me on the nights that Khaleesi gets her kit off on Game of Thrones. He can’t stop thinking of me on the days he accumulates adult content on his web browsing history. I’ll freely admit that I’m not quite so noble. Is my hubby who I’m thinking about during pivotal moments? Yes, of course he is…Well, he definitely has the lead role but there are a few walk on parts. Jon Snow is telling me to hurry up because the white walkers are coming. I know he’s serious because I can see they’ve already ripped the clothes off him. If I’ve had more than two drinks, he might have brought Spartacus with him for back up. Ross Poldark is telling me that he’s going down the mine while Gerard Butler is crooning ‘Galway Girl’ in the corner. It wouldn’t be fair to give hubby all the credit when it’s actually more of a team effort.
I have no intention of cheating. Aside from the fact that I’m a hopeless liar, I lost my body to motherhood 11 years ago and I hold my husband partly responsible for that. It’s his mess so he’s stuck with it now. As I was regularly reminded by my bosses when I did bar work, “You break it, it’s yours” However, as long as I am blessed with the gift of sight, I will be taking full advantage of it!
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