A few days ago I bought the most exquisite grapes, little green globes of sugary perfection. Who amongst us could resist the siren call of such beauty? Certainly not I.

Well, I overindulged and my body has rebelled through the form of um, er, ah, severe gastro-intestinal distress.

Oh yeah, there's been a few days now of the bloating and the cramping. If my methane emissions continue at their current level, I will soon have My Own Personal Hole in the Ozone Layer.

When we were much younger, the spousal unit would have made endless tasteless jokes about the need to keep away from open flames and unfortunate explosions. However, he has honed his survival instincts considerably since then and knows better than to say them out loud to a bloating, cramping, gaseous and extremely crabby woman.

Now you would think that having endured my whining and all around crabbiness, not to mention some truly outstanding emissions in terms of both volume and odour, he would know that the possibility of marital duties happening before the situation clears up are just about equal to a snowball's survival in H-E-Double-Toothpicks.

Frankly, if he was in the same extremely flammable state, I would not initiate anything of a marital nature until the emissions had abated. But oh, no, not the spousal unit. The man is the very embodiment of the words "hope (among other things) springs eternal".

Which brings us to the delicate task of The Negotiation.

From what's happened between folks I know, it seems to me that if sex is the total engine of a relationship, then the relationship will run a few years at best. However, if the relationship's engine is a complicated mix of love, friendship, compatibility and lust with sex as, say, the oil that helps keep the engine running smoothly, well I think you have a greater shot at longevity.

But without oil an engine seizes up pretty fast.

Every couple handles this differently. I have a sister-in-law in Ontario who wears a track suit to bed the nights that she's just not interested. When he is confronted with The Track Suit of Doom, my stepbrother knows better than to consider initiating anything of a nookilicious nature.

I haven't adopted any "not gonna happen" outfits, however.

Which brings us to the concept of pity sex. Normally pity sex would be considered the granting of marital duties (or in the case of fornicators, pre-marital duties) by one partner to another when the partner of the first part Is Not In The Mood. Consider it an act of mercy. I, myself, have been the recipient of pity sex from the spousal unit, and he from me.

Well the other night it took on a whole new heretofore never seen dimension, becoming more "I Pity The Fool Who Would Initiate Sex With An Extremely Gaseous Woman" than it was an act of mercy.

Think whoopee cushion with a pulse and you pretty much have the situation covered.

I will spare my three loyal readers any more details except to say that the spousal unit truly earned the three words I am required by Spousal Edict to use any time the marital duties portion of our life is discussed--wangitude, stamina and prowess.

Especially the stamina.

I had no idea he could hold his breath for so long at a time, eh?

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer 38.65 miles (62.19 kilometers)
Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers