"I’m… I’m not gay. Sure, Francine’s bat-cave grosses me out once in a while…”

My friend Lisa wrote an article on why morning sex is better than evening sex. Despite it not being the point of the post at all, I've managed to turn it into a debate. So, here is her post;

http://www.seekingelevation.com/2012/06/technical-writing.html

And here is the response I posted in her comments. I would also like it to be noted that my title is for Lucid Lotus. We're still obessing with American Dad over here and I laughed out loud when I heard this one.


First I would like to precede this with the statement that your article was very well written and convincing. Also I would like it to be noted that I am not trying to convince anyone that evening sex is better than morning, I’m just stating why evening sex is better for the unique human being that is me.

Point 1. My vagina is very whiny. Like if I was back in the pioneer days my lineage would not have continued whiny. I read those romance novels that take place in the Braveheart days and I cringe at the thought of the lack of cleanliness. This fact also contributes to why I refuse to go places that don’t have hot showers at a moment’s notice, aka camping can suck it big time. We did used to have sex in the morning, and afternoon and whenever there was no one around really, but this was before our daughter, and the great kidney infection of ’07 that landed me in the ER. Now I concede it was probably the culmination of the perfect storm of me being dehydrated, drinking a lot of alcohol on a pretty regular basis, as well as the perpetual getting busy. But that, coupled with some agonizing yeast infections leads me to conclude that my delicate flower of a vagina just does better when all junk involved is clean. My husband showers at night due to his manual labor jobs, which the sheets and I appreciate. I always shower in the morning, but 6 out of 7 days a week I work out and get all sweaty, not to mention the warm temperatures in the summer and gross flip flop feet, so I’ve taken to showering at night too, just a quick one, no hair washing or shaving, but my down there’s are nice and clean.

Point 2. If you wake me up before I absolutely have to get up I may resort to violence. I have trouble falling asleep, and I’m still mildly traumatized by the 10 months I was up with G every 2 hours without fail, which I am sure that mothers of multiple young children close together scoff at; ‘Only 10 months? I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in years!’ they say. To which I reply I LOST MY MIND, I NEED SLEEP. So once I’m out I have a very firm Leave Me the Fuck Alone rule. I of course get up when G needs me, but that is it. I am not a happy person in the morning and I need every last second of sleep the morning can spare me.

Point 3. It provides me the trifecta (eyebrow waggle at Lisa) of inner peace, and fits fantastically into my schedule. Every night I put G to bed, clean the kitchen, and pick up whatever messes are in the living room. If my husband is particularly tired, or if the mess is unusually large some nights, the fact that it will take me longer or that he wants me to hurry sometimes motivates him to help out. He doesn’t grade papers or anything that requires him to do work from home so his day is essentially done. Now this sounds manipulative, which I assure you it is not, because the help is not required. If I say; “There’s a big mess tonight, feel free to pick up the living room.” I do get angry or annoyed if he doesn’t do it. That was said simply to bring it to his attention that it was there. If I want him to do it, and I will be slightly stabby if he doesn’t, I say; “Babe, can you please unload the dishwasher while I put G to sleep?” See? All intentions are fully stated, no subtle nuances or hints that will require pouting if not picked up. Those are lame. So, after the house is clean, we get busy, and then we settle into bed to watch a movie/mess around on our phones. During this time I have a nice frosty screwdriver, 4 mini peanut butter cups, 2 licorice and a handful of baked sour cream and cheddar chips. My trifecta of inner peace; sex, booze, and junk food, especially chocolate. OOooooooommmmmmmm. It is perfection.

I do not have any links (seeing as I’m infuckingcapable of linking to save my life) or statistics to back me up. Just the drunken giggly comments that I leave on blogs are the proof of my joy.