I’m not sure what’s up with this sicky thing I’ve got going on. I wake up in the morning feeling like absolute ass, and get progressively better as the day goes on, then start all over again. The Captain came home early today and ordered me to take a nap, which was nice, but I feel like I’ve gotten behind on the house again, after I’d spent all weekend getting caught up… Something, something, work never done.

Last night we snuggled in the couch and watched the Discovery channel special “Sex in America”. Nothing amazingly eye-opening. Researchers recreated Kinsey’s sex survey, added a few new questions, and surprise, people are having more and more varied sex than they were in the 40′s.

The show was split into sections on different topics, and we had a good chuckle at the topic of age and sex. Sex declines in marriage as the couple gets older (SURPRISE!), and we sat and listened to some old biddies rationalize it away, and half of it didn’t make any damn sense. Something about connection being more important, or that they don’t need it, or something. The guys didn’t say much, I noticed. Apparently we’re in the 5% of married people our age having sex 3-4 times a week. Huzzah!

(Side note: Average Married Dad did a good write up, “Average” is kind of sad, based in the same study.)

It’s amazing how far we’ve come in the last year. Last night was the perfect example.

After the show was over, I wasn’t feeling it. He’d been kinda gropey the whole time we were watching the show (show about sex, getting a guy horny? Surely, you jest). He ordered me to the bedroom, and I kinda moped my way there, because it was cold, I was sick, and I was definitely tired. I continued to throw up token resistance, because I knew it was going to happen anyway, and he basically told me to shut up. As we got into it, I definitely got more warmed up, and we ended up with an amazing night, complete with 3 or 4 positions and a spanking in between.

A year ago, I would have gone to bed, he’d have gingerly tried to spoon his way into my pants, a fight would ensue, and I’d storm out and end the night sleeping on the couch in front of the TV.

Life is good, but I’m still sick. To bed with me (for sleep this time, dammit).