After three years of pandemic small world-ness, I was yearning for a trip “home.” Thirty-six months away from NYC, my childhood and forever spiritual home, was too long. An eternity. Now, finally, we were heading back. The plan: five days, seven shows. What could go wrong? Read more
Oh, what a week! It was, in fact, a no good, rotten, stinky week. I was supposed to be in NYC for the first time since the pandemic. I was supposed to see two Broadway shows. Supposed to see an exhibit of theater memorabilia. Supposed to see one of my best friends. And most important of all, I was supposed to attend my niece’s graduation.
I was supposed to do all that and I couldn’t. The worst part: the reason I couldn’t travel was my own fault. Read more
So sang the Rolling Stones. I know how they feel. For sadly, I can’t get no satisfaction. My husband no longer satisfies my needs the way he did in the glory days of our courtship and first years of wedded bliss.
“Oh, God, not again,” he moaned just the other day as I gently nudged him awake. “We just did it,” he lamented.
“Come on,” I demurred sweetly. “That was hours ago. Come on. Get up.”
“You’re killing me,” he protested. “I just cannot do this seven-nights-a-week and twice on weekends. I’m not young anymore.”
“Come on,” I repeated. This time in a firmer voice.
“You’re insatiable,” he muttered weakly.
Now, I suppose you think I’m talking about sex … Read more