A Certain Disenchantment Sets In

My parents weren't much for sex education -- the only information I received was from an outdated set of medical encyclopedias that had been passed down from God only knows where that spoke of contraception as "tawdry, tacky, and potentially harmful." The sex talk of my teenage years was as follows -- Do you know what sex is?, my mother asked. Yes, I said. Okay then, my mother replied. I didn't mention that I'd already had a relationship of sorts with my high school English teacher, who was too depressed to be any great shakes in bed, but had taught me a lot about Frey tag's triangle for help with my fiction writing. You take your pleasures where you can! For my mother, a certain disenchantment had already set in regarding the life of the body. Her only other sex advice was simply that on your wedding night, you should procure a sleeping pill so that you can be fast asleep right after it's over so that you don't have to dwell on unpleasantness. Alas, it's the modern day equivalent of lying back and thinking of England.

There's a new book out that suggests that women prefer chocolate to sex and that women in our society are forced to fake a huge sex drive because that's what is expected of us, not because we really have desire for it. I haven't read this book and nor has anyone I know, yet a lot of my friends have read the reviews. The very suggestion seems to get a fair deal of attention from the menfolk I know -- fear that all the women they've, umm, known over the years have been disingenuous in that most freighted of sanctuaries, the bedroom. Even though I put this book in the category of other such brilliant tomes as The Rules: Time Tested Secrets for Capturing Mr. Right, I admit to taking a certain pleasure in seeing men squirm. So much of the bullshit we're fed is directed at women becoming old maids, not doing enough for men, for ruining their fertility, their lives, and their children's lives because of their selfishness, laxity, and moral turpitude. Men don't get their panties in a bunch over these books, I might add. But this new one upsets them. What if the hopped up women in the Frederick's of Hollywood get-up would really cuddle up with a box of Godiva chocolates and watch You've Got Mail? The last time I was on a plane, the man next to me spoke of his marriage being happy until the conversation turned to the nuns in the front of the plane. Married women would make good nuns, he said. They never want to have sex. This was well before the chocolate book. That's why I go out with the boys and bitch. It's easier than trying to get my wife to sleep with me. If I'd known about the secret of the chocolate book, I could have given him some advice about what to take with him to his betrothed. I don't think this is what anyone means by having it all, but hey, you take what you can get.

Michelle's Spell of the Day

"When I got out, I look like Joan Crawford, the movie star. If people want to see the girl next door, they should go next door." Joan Crawford

Cocktail Hour

Drinking music suggestion: Too Bad Jim R.L. Burnside

Benedictions and Maledictions

Three more days until The Sopranos airs!

Happy Holy Thursday!