I just had sex with my husband for the 3,071st time and he said thank you like he’s done every other time. He also said “that was the best ever” as he does every third or fourth time. When I tell some people that (like 7 people and you hardly know them dear...) they think it’s sweet and quaint. Some think it’s very feminist of him and some think it’s creepily patriarchal. Others just think it’s hysterical.
When he says it what I hear is “I appreciate you taking the time to be here with me in this way that’s important to me. I love you. I’m going to go have a bowl of cereal.”
I’ve always interpreted it as a sign of respect. He realizes that I am (only sometimes darling) showing him kindness when I make myself sexually available to him. He knows I’m not always in the mood….He knows I’ve cowgirled up.
Let me be clear, I’m pretty sure I’m nothing special in the bedroom. I do not wear sexy underwear or heels to bed. Unless I’m on holiday I’m not a fan of before bed sex. I wanna read until I fall asleep, so 90% of the time it’s sober morning sex. Before I had my breasts lifted I wouldn’t have sex without a shirt on or cross the room naked.
I have a vintage bush and I’m certain I’ve never done anything any of my friends would consider even remotely kinky. So at least 2,967 of those thanks yous were for nothing special.
My husband and I have been together for almost 28 years and lest there be any romantic illusions, it got/gets/will get rocky sometimes. Maybe one of the reasons we’ve managed to tough it out as long as we have is because of all the “Thank yous”, “I’m sorrys”, “You were rights”, and “Pleases” we’ve always given each other.*
When he takes the garbage out I say thank you. When I take the garbage out he says thank you. Same goes both ways with dishes, laundry and cooking. When I do him a favor, like get his favorite chocolate bar and/or bear his children and/or race across town to meet him in the school parking lot to give him the pair of underwear he forgot to check and see if our 6 year old was wearing under her tutu, he always says thank you.
When he does me a favor like remembering to get Pepsi Max and/or seeing me through serious bouts of depression and/or opening my mail for me and/or keeping me from being deported and/or not giving me shit for my vices, I say thank you.
One of the ways I say thank you is by trying to keep on top (literally and figuratively) of our sex life and he knows that. So really he’s thanking me for thanking him.
And then I said, “no, thank you.”
*We also never call each other names (except the 3 or 4 times early on when I made sure he knew I thought he was acting like an asshole) and we try really hard not to be mean.
Article by VERVE Founder & CFO (Chief Feminist Operative) Anna Quick Palmer