When my girlfriend, Myra, took birth control pills she was rarely in the mood for sex. At first, whenever the prospect of intercourse... ahem... arose she always had an excuse -- headaches, stomachaches or some flu with no symptoms, but when I got wise she became more inventive. If she saw John Boehner on the news, she would be turned off; if Wi-Fi was unavailable she would lose the little sex drive she had; low GDP numbers made her frigid; if she missed an episode of Downton Abbey, there would be no sex for a week.
Then Mike Huckabee explained that women can't control their libidos without birth control pills. Like most sane people, I thought the ex-governor of Arkansas was just spouting the usual moronic Tea Party drivel.
I hate to admit it but Dr. Huckabee was right.
To make our sex life more interesting, I took Huckabee's advice and urged her to stop taking them. Since then, things have changed -- Myra can't control her libido. Now Boehner turns her on (she pronounces his last name incorrectly on purpose.) She thinks Huckabee is sexy (she likes to replace the first letter of his last name with an "F".) Every time she stops to get gas, she froths at the mouth when she puts the nozzle into the gas tank. When she's not watching Internet porn, she leafs excitedly through a coffee table book about the history of the Washington Monument.
As for Downton Abbey, she's particularly fond of Mister Bates.
One day she bought The Joy of Sex, but I secretly replaced it with a copy of The Joy of Cooking, but she didn't notice because now she gets off on pictures of zucchini, bananas and cucumbers.
I know, I shouldn't complain but trying to keep up with her sex drive has been very... ahem... hard on me. When she bought a copy of the Kama Sutra my back went out twice and I sprained my knee, my ankle, my shoulder and my neck. The only one benefitting from all this is my chiropractor who just bought a Ferrari. I've done my best to put up... ahem... stiff resistance, but nothing works.
I quit the health club. I need more exercise like a moose needs a hat rack.
Until now, I had no idea they made neon dildos that speak.
Twice in the last week I caught her swooning in a mattress store.
She told me she always wanted to play an instrument and is now taking trombone and clarinet lessons at the same time.
She insists we spend our next vacation in Dixville Notch, New Hampshire.
She wants to fly Aer Lingus to get there.
She's taking German lessons only because of their word for the number "six."
She wants me to change my name to Dick Johnson.
She bought a rooster.
She's read all of Shakespeare's plays, searching for a character named Fellatio.
She overuses the % sign on her computer keyboard.
I urged her to start taking Uncle Sugar's birth control pills, but she likes being a sex maniac. What to do?
It's taken a while, but I finally persuaded her to seek couples therapy. So far, we haven't made any progress at all -- she can't take her eyes off the shrink's pen when he clicks it open and closed -- but I have high hopes that after a while we'll... ahem... beat this thing.