For many new parents, the romance goes the way of the placenta. Not me and my husband though, no sir. We’ve managed to keep the fire burning through the pandemonium of parenthood. For example, my husband shows his affections by slapping my ass and swinging his weenie around like a tassle on a showgirl’s tit.

Wow. Let me go slip into something a little more flannel.

When we were dating, he’d often tell me how funny and smart and beautiful I was. Now he warms the cockles of my heart with things like, “What’s for supper?” and “Is there clothes in the dryer?”

Oh yeah baby. Take it off. Take it all off.

Men! Why do they stop showering us with affection? Like most smart-ass husbands, Andrew would counter this question with another question: “Why do women stop riding us into the sunset like a cowgirl with a cause?”


Time to get a clue, sucka-foo! After all these years, do you still not realize that flattery and fornication are attached at the hip? To quote the infinitely wise Antoine Dodson, “You are so dumb. You are really dumb. For real.”

Now, being a writer and mad as a hatter, I spend quite a deal of time writing at home, retreating into my own private Wonderland and ignoring Andrew for hours on end. A couple days ago, realizing I had been pecking away at the keyboard for an eternity and a half, I turned to him and said, “If I ever get a book published (you know, about motherhood), I will dedicate it to you for all your patience and support.” I was trying to start something sweet. You know, throw a compliment his way, maybe get one back, followed by some cuddling and afternoon delight. His tender, loving response? “The book wouldn’t exist without me anyway, because I’m the one who got you pregnant with my meat cannon.”

Give it to me baby.

I can’t complain. I’ve been laughing at the “meat cannon” for about 48 hours. Got me right in the funny boner. Never underestimate the disrobing power of a good chuckle.

And today, though I received no flowers or candy, I did discover this work of heart on the chalkboard in the kitchen.

Nothing but big ol’ hearts dancing in my eyes.

Happy Valentine’s Day, all you crazy couples out there, fully clothed or otherwise. Here’s a song for ya.