Your Ticket to Total Intimacy
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Shela
My Hubby Dale
Hubby Dale and a guy friend sat on their boat knocking down a few beers and whiled away a lazy afternoon by listing body “ations”—urination, expectoration, perspiration, etc. I tried, but failed, to imagine doing the same with a girlfriend. We would identify the three most important “ations”—exfoliation, ovulation and menstruation, three these two geniuses missed—and then go shoe shopping.
Like it or not, “ations” are part of life. When you’re cheek by jowl it’s impossible to pretend, as you do in those early getting-to-know-each-other days, that you’re the only person on the planet who doesn’t experience them. At some point, one or the other of you will fart, belch, or leave the bathroom in need of fumigation. One bit of relaxed behavior leads to another and before you know it, you’re sharing—perhaps over-sharing—all those “ations.”
It’s not fair to stereotype but it seems to me that most guys never quite get over their middle-school fascination with body functions, especially flatulation and eructation (belching). There’s even a certain pride that some men take in “ations” as if the louder the belch or the more pungent the flatulence, the more manly they are. I. Do. Not. Get. It.
Okay, I admit it. I sometimes see the humor. Dale and I were at a Wednesday afternoon matinee, the favorite showing for folks from the retirement community. During a quiet moment Dale coughed so hard he ripped one. A really loud one. The elderly woman in front of Dale reached up and patted her head as if she feared the blast had dislodged her wig. We could not stop laughing and had to leave.
Then there’s grooming. In a perfect world, we’d all wake up as they do in the soaps—perfect hair, perfect make-up, no morning breath. You wouldn’t need to floss or brush your teeth, clip your toenails, exfoliate, mud pack, shave, or file your calluses. It’s soooooooooo not a perfect world.
I think most body functions and grooming should be done behind closed doors. Dale is more relaxed. I’m convinced he’d never seek privacy but for the fact that he reads on the john and doesn’t want to be disturbed. Oddly, the one thing that grosses him out is watching me put my contacts on. You may consider that as weird as I do, but it does demonstrate an important point. When it comes to body functions and grooming, it’s a good idea to know when you’re crossing your sweetie’s “that’s disgusting” line. We all have our quirks. Kathy is grossed out by teeth flossing, Elijah by ear wax on Q-Tips. I need complete privacy to groom my feet. Nail clippings make Rebecca want to hurl. Respect your sweetheart’s quirks and avoid the gross out.
It may be impossible to maintain the same level of propriety you would around a total stranger, but remember this: In an intimate relationship, there are times when less is more.
Penn and New Squeeze
Is it just me? Or am I justifiably appalled by both Sean Penn and Jon Gosselin. I mean, come on, these guys loved Robin and Kate enough to marry them and have children with them. But within no time of having split the blanket, they’re each squiring a replacement. I’ve been divorced. I get it. You move on. But if you have any decency, you show respect for your ex and especially for your children. You let the sheets cool. I don’t even want to start on Jon Gosselin. Okay, too late, I’m started. What are his children to think when they learn (if they haven’t already) that daddy is saying horrible things about mommy to the whole world. I detest her!?!!!! Jon, I take you at your word. You detest Kate. My question is this: Do you hate Kate more than you love your children? If so, keep it up, buddy. But if you love your kids as you should, zip it up. Grow up. You were man enough to father eight children, now be man enough to be a good father even in, no especially in, the face of a public divorce.
During the 20 years I practiced law, I refused to do domestic work. This is exactly why. I cannot (and don’t want to be) indifferent to parents who making hurting the ex more important than the welfare of their children. I practice what I preach. When my daughter’s father and I split, I made certain that he and she had a relationship. She was only two. It would have been easy to push him out of the picture. But because I love my daughter, I made sure she knew her father. Six years ago, he and I walked her down the aisle. I did the right thing. Marriage may end, parenting doesn’t.
So, Sean and Jon, regardless of what you may feel for your soon-to-be-exes, think of your kids. Now, more than ever, they need you to be stand-up guys.
Patrick & Lisa
I didn’t know much about Patrick Swayze, other than I loved him in Ghost and Dirty Dancing, until I read about him in People. I did not know, for example, that he was married to his childhood sweetheart Lisa and that they had been married for 34 years. By all accounts, theirs was a special relationship, the kind we’d all like to have. I’m always impressed when people get it right the first time, especially when they marry so young and then face extraordinary challenges such as fame, and in Patrick’s case alcoholism. I am profoundly sad that Lisa has lost her husband, her best friend, and her anchor, made all the more sad by the fact that she no doubt can hardly remember life without him, so long ago did they find each other. I can’t begin to imagine the huge emotional hole that is left. Their marriage is an inspiration to all of us. In a profound act of intimacy after his diagnosis with pancreatic cancer, they together wrote the memoir The Time of My Life. I hope that reliving the memories recorded there will bring some solace to Lisa. I, for one, look forward to reading the book and learning the secret to their long and special relationship. I suspect it will be much the same as that of Paul and Linda McCartney.
I listened to a Paul McCartney interview at the height of his fame. He was asked how he and Linda managed to stay so happily married with all his success and with millions of women available to him. He said, “It’s simple. I love her.” Wow.
Release date: September '09
For the last few days I’ve had this respiratory crud that last night erupted into one of those nasty coughs. So, today I stayed in bed. It was 9:30 a.m. and I was sound asleep when I heard glasses rattling. I awoke to find Dale heading for the bed with a tray of champagne and two glasses. Also sitting on the tray was the very first printed edition of my book Frequent Foreplay Miles, Your Ticket to Total Intimacy. Was I dreaming? Was the cold medication making me hallucinate? Or, was it possible that, after all the work, it had finally become reality? “Is it here?” I asked. “It is,” he said, “and I am so proud of you!” What a guy, huh? Suddenly, my cold didn’t seem so bad and I was floating on cloud nine. I’ve never happier for a UPS delivery. Woo hoo!!!!!!!!!!
So, stayed tuned. Soon, you’ll be able to hold your edition, too.
Amazon River
Have you ever been with a couple and one says something to the other that seems to make sense only to them? You say, “What?” They say, “Private joke,” and give each other a meaningful glance. I was working on the chapter in my book about humor and it occurred to me that it’s often from humorous situations that “private jokes” arise. E.g., Dale and I were on a camping tour of Manu Reserve in the Peruvian Amazon basin. Dale was in heaven and although it was pretty cool to wake to the sound of howler monkeys and see poison dart frogs in their natural environment, there’s a reason why a rain forest is called a rain forest. Wet. Hot. Humid. Camping. No shower. REALLY big bugs. Ugh! On the tour were four other couples, including Lucinda and Graham from London where an umbrella is an everyday accessory. While the rest of us drowned rats huddled in an open canoe wearing cheap plastic ponchos purchased on the streets of Cuzco, Lucinda and Graham were cuddled under the giant umbrella they thought to bring with them. As if this weren’t annoying enough, they were also irrepressibly chipper—of course they were, they were dry! Every morning, they’d get up and describe the previous night in a moldy old tent as, “Brilliant!” By the fifth day, I was pretty cranky and, frankly, tired of Lucinda and Graham. Dale (normally a very funny guy) was having the time of his life and attempted to make a joke with our non-English speaking Peruvian guide who, of course, didn’t get it. I grabbed Dale by the lapels, pulled his face close to mine, and said through clenched teeth, “Dale, you are not funny in the rain forest!” Without blinking an eye, he looked down at me and said, “Graham thinks I’m funny.” I cracked up. Now, years later, when I fail to find Dale as humorous as he thinks he is, I say, “This is the rain forest.” He knows to get serious but before he does, he often adds, “Graham thinks I’m funny,” and it always makes me smile.
The phrase “not pregnant” also has a special meaning for us. It means “don’t make assumptions.” Here’s how that one came about: We were on our way to an afternoon matinee. I was driving my hot little Mustang, chatting and not paying close enough attention, when I rear-ended a van. We pulled into the closest parking lot and while I went to speak to the driver, Dale ran to the passenger side to make sure no one was hurt. He yanked the door open and blurted out to the large woman reclining in the seat, “Oh, my God, you’re really pregnant!” She wasn’t. Ha!
Bottom line: Every couple in love builds their own little “world” of shared experiences, code words, meaningful glances, and gestures only they understand. It’s part of what makes a couple a couple. It’s pretty darned intimate when you two are the only ones in a crowded room to share a “private joke.”
In my last post I told you about the time Dale brought me a red-ripe strawberry and how touched I was by that gesture. Now I’m wondering if he had an ulterior motive. Why? I just read that among the things known to, shall we say, “stoke the fires” is the color red, red as in fully ripened strawberry. Here’s what else I just read:
Certain foods boost that I’d-like-to-jump-your-bones feeling. Like almonds. Who would have guessed? Arugula, avocado and figs are on the list, too. And chocolate. Now we’re talking. Have I mentioned that Dale does the cooking in our house? I always thought he did it for two reasons: (1) he enjoys it, which is a good thing because (2) if it were up to me to feed us, we’d live on spoonfuls of peanut butter, take out Chinese, and Lean Cuisine. So, last night he fixed a salad of arugula and figs, with avocado on the side, and sprinkled with slivered almonds. For dessert we had dark chocolate cake. Hmmmmm . . . . now I’m thinking maybe there’s a third reason he does the cooking. Whaddya think?
Release date: September '09
My book Frequent Foreplay Miles, Your Ticket to Total Intimacy comes out next month. Can’t wait! I’ve been working on this project for what feels like forever. Writing a book is a lonely endeavor. But it requires the support of those who get short shrift while you’re holed up in your office writing, re-writing, editing, staring at a blank screen, etc. My guy Dale earned about a bazillion Frequent Foreplay Miles during the process. He is the greatest. One afternoon, after I’d been at it since 4 a.m., he walked into my office holding the most gorgeous, plump, red-ripe strawberry I’ve ever seen. He offered it to me and said, “Here, I want you to have a bright spot in your day.” Omigod!! Did I not tell you he’s the greatest? That, folks, is emotional foreplay at its best. And just as great foreplay is essential to Wow! sex, great emotional foreplay is essential to a Wow! relationship. I’m not kidding you when I say this: When Dale offered me that strawberry I couldn’t have been more touched, felt more loved, felt more supported, or felt more connected to him had he offered me a 10 karat diamond ring. With that simple gesture, made at exactly the right moment, he said, “I’m thinking about you, I support what you’re doing, and I love you.” Wow! I’ll never again see a ripe strawberry without being reminded how lucky I am to have Dale in my life and how much I love him.
Holding hands, but not looking happy.
Robin Wright Penn and Sean Penn are once again in the California divorce system. That state has “no fault” divorce, though I think maybe it should be called “everyone’s at fault and there’s plenty of it to go around” divorce. Whatever. Point is, all you have to do is say you have irreconcilable differences and that’s the end of the story, at least as far as the judge is concerned. When I read the news blurb about the off-again Penn marriage, I wondered just what “differences” they have that are incapable of being “reconciled” such that their 20-year togetherness is kaput.
Seems to me that every couple has gazillions of differences they “reconcile” every day. He’s a dog person, she’s a cat person. He loves eggplant, it makes her gag. She’s crazy about opera, he’s a heavy metal freak. He loves to camp, she’s afraid of bugs. His favorite TV show is demolition derby, hers is Days of our Lives. She loves to scrapbook, he’s into chain saw art. Differences. They make us interesting. And, they sometimes challenge us. She’s Catholic, he’s Jewish—how do you raise the kids? He’s believes in spanking, she doesn’t—how do you discipline the kids? She likes to travel, he’s a homebody—how do you spend vacation time? Challenging, yes. Irreconcilable, no.
So at what point do differences really become irreconcilable? I think it’s the moment when you run out of the energy and desire it takes to do the hard work. There are times when you simply can’t do more, don’t want to do more, and just want out. I get it. I’ve been there. But let’s call a spade a spade, okay? Except in limited situations, e.g., where one refuses to stop smacking the other one around or refuses to give up side nooky, when a couple splits based on “irreconcilable differences” it really means they simply gave up. Maybe this a distinction without a difference, I dunno. But I’m thinking that maybe more couples would go that extra mile to work it all out if, when contemplating divorce, they ask themselves, “Are our differences really irreconcilable, or are we quitting?” In my book, it’s okay to quit—no judgment from this quarter—but not to pretend that you’re movin’ on because your differences cannot be reconciled.
As for Robin and Sean, I wish them the best.
Hey, check out my just-published article. Here’s an excerpt . . .
Aaaaaaarrrrggggghhh!!!!!!
Things go wrong. The oven malfunctions, the appetizer burns, and your snooty in-laws arrive to a smoke-filled house. You’re leaving for your brother’s wedding and the baby throws up on the perfect silk dress you shopped for months to find. The flight home from the conference your boss made you attend is late. You miss your own birthday party.
A meltdown is yours to have. The sweetheart who wants to earn points (or what my hubby and I call Frequent Foreplay Miles) shows support with, “That really sucks!” and leaves you to rant ‘n rave until you realize you’ve crossed the line from justifiably upset to childish.
There are times, however, when the meltdown is up for grabs and goes to the first taker . . .
Read the entire article at DivaToolbox.com: The Meltdown: Another Ticket to Marital Intimacy
