I’ve always heard of the ancient joke that once couples get married, they stop having sex. (Now, either I assume this doesn’t apply to Catholic couples, or they just never start having it in the first place. Wait, but that can’t be true, or else how do they have so many damn kids?) These kinds of jokes are often based in some truth. I know it’s not immediate, but it does seem to be accepted that after a certain period of time, couples just don’t have sex very much.

I have a hard time seeing how this prediction would play into my marriage to Josh. The joke also generally includes things related to how the WOMAN doesn’t want sex anymore.

“Oh, I have a headache.”

“I ate too much at dinner.”

“The kids might hear.”

Well, I’ve never been one for headaches. Despite my voracious appetite, I am quite capable of portion control, when I want to be. And, well, having kids simply won’t stop me.

I LOVE having sex with Josh. I don’t know if women are supposed to ever admit that they actually enjoy sex, especially with their fiances or husbands, but I do. It feels good. Way better than I ever expected it to. I don’t know if I have a freakishly large G-spot or if he has a freakishly large… Well, either way, we work well together. So I honestly can’t fathom what reasoning I might come up with for avoiding sex with him in the future. I’m pretty sure that when we’re 60 years old, I’m going to be straddling him on the couch and he’ll be saying, “Honey, I’m not sure it’s safe to take four Viagras in one day.”

Which is fabulous. Because the most embarrassing kind of parents/grandparents/great grandparents are the kind that DO still kiss in public and touch inappropriately at holiday gatherings.

“Get out, kids! Grandpa and I are gettin’ busy under the Christmas tree!”

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