I’ve seen all the Lifetime dramas about Sex and the Single Mom and I get the point, totally but what those stories and others miss is…reality. Let’s be truthful, when you’re a single mom your sex life is drastically diminished. It’s as if when you sign the divorce papers or birth a baby into wedlock, a chastity belt clanks down to secure your hoohoo and the kid(s) gets the key.
If as a single mom you are lucky enough to have a regular partner amidst the plethora of obligations you are now fulfilling solo, kudos to you. More importantly, kudos to him. In this role while balancing school, finances, work, play dates, church, athletics, extracurricular activities, and discipline you’ve barely made time to grocery shop much less find a date. And if you did get one, the layers of crust on your neglected most southern appendages (because how can you get a pedicure) would scare the poor suitor away. But for arguments sake, let’s say you have found one and you are hot and heavy…when can you find time for sex? Better yet, where can you have sex? Truthfully, you could go to his place but you’ve got kids at home and no money for a sitter. So he visits you after 10pm when they’re tucked in tight. You stumble through the house in the dark whispering and trying not to trip over an action figure to the bedroom where you double bolt the door and put a towel under it to absorb the sounds that could filter down the hall to your little angels. Oh but there is little sound because you have to muffle every scream and silence every strike of the headboard. The mood, among other things, is dead.
So you are left to seek less embarrassing and disastrous alternatives, and this my friends is where the story begins.
I often have family gatherings to include my parents, brothers, their wives/girlfriends, nieces, nephews, aunts and cousins. After dinner, we usually lounge out in front of the television watching a movie, or letting a movie watch us. It was at one of these events that I looked down and noticed how awful my nails looked. I only noticed this after my mother gasped in horror at their sight. I of course was used to the terror. “Jordan, under the sink on the left there is a bottle of nail polish remover and a roll of cotton pads in a pink wrapper, please bring those to mommy” I said to the seven year old half sarcastically. He ran up the stairs fast as lightening so he could get back to The Princess and The Frog (he would deny ever being into it but he was). Now, if you have sons or know any men at all, you are privy to some very important information-they only hear half of what you say. As a child the other half is on tv, video games and toys. As an adult the other half is on sex. Seconds later my second born and exact replica of myself walks into the living room in what seems like slow motion just as every person in the room turns to look at me and hands me LUBRICATION AND A VIBRATOR!
Dear God, why doth thy smite me so?
Laughter erupts among the adults, minus my dad who is uncomfortably shifting in his seat and my older aunt who puts on her glasses to get a better look and asks “What is it?” I jump up and run away, missing the fourth step toward my upstairs bedroom and the thud of my body hitting the floor sends the crowd wild…again. It took about thirty minutes to gain my composure and relax the redness in my face. When I returned, everyone was playing charades and I quietly sat in an inconspicuous corner of the room. Because they love me, no one mentioned it again but I know they will when they think I’m over the shame (although there is no shame is pleasuring one’s self there is in exploiting it).
Lesson learned (because every good story should have one), if you want your son to go to the left, tell him to go to the right or put your personals in a secure location.
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