When A Sexy Date Night Goes Awry
by Amanda Jette Knox of The Maven of Mayhem
My husband and I never plan Sexy Time.
Sexy Time just happens, because that’s part of what makes it sexy. One minute you’re watching Doctor Who and the next you’re saying, “Why, Doctor! Is that your Sonic Screwdriver or are you just happy to see me?” (In a British accent, of course.)
But it’s been all kinds of busy lately, so last night we decided we would carve out some Sexy Time when we’re not totally exhausted. While hubby went downstairs to let the dogs out in the backyard for a few minutes before bed, I decided to slip into something more comfortable and await his return.
Incidentally, something more comfortable was not nearly as comfortable as the yoga pants and tank top I had been wearing before. It involved fishing out a cute bra and panty set, and stuffing my chest muffins into some underwire in an attempt to set them back a full decade. (Underwire is a very effective time machine. I’m not quite sure why The Doctor doesn’t use it.)
And, oddly enough, I was kind of excited about the whole planning out of the Sexy Time thing. It was almost sexier because it was so planned, and what old and tired parent doesn’t appreciate a good, hard planning? Also, my hoots were going to look spectacular in a way that surprise Sexy Time doesn’t deliver. Sweet.
And so, of course, it was right then, when I was standing in the walk-in closet trying to look spectacularly planned, that I noticed The Smell.
The Smell wafted in subtly at first, like a light tap on the nostrils, before basically punching me in the nose. It was an awful, pungent, rubbery smell. Within seconds, our eldest was knocking on the bedroom door. “Mom?”
“Um, I’m getting dressed,” I called from the closet. “Like, sort of.”
“It smells like skunk. Everywhere!”
“I think someone got sprayed!” yelled my husband from downstairs. “I’m trying to find a flashlight. Where are all the damn flashlights?”
R.I.P., deliciously planned Sexy Time.
I sighed and threw a tunic over the whole ensemble – backwards and inside out because I’m a classy sort of dame – and started googling “how to get skunk smell out of a dog and all the other shit I’m probably going to have to get it out of.”
Flash forward to me loudly blaming the kids for the missing flashlights and then finding one where I had left it in the basement that last time.
Then flash to my husband saying “I’m not sure if Shadow is wet from the grass or sprayed or both” and me stooping down low on the deck to get a good whiff, only to get blasted with a skunk oil smell so foul that it made my eyes burn.
Cut to next sexy scene: Me sitting on the garage steps barelegged in a backwards and inside out tunic (because I’m a proper lady) patting the excess skunk oil off Shadow with paper towels while he foams at the mouth and looks like he might vomit and/or might also have rabies. And me, shaving the dog and trying not to let his skunky fur touch my toes, lest I vomit all over him.
All the while, a part of me is wondering if the bra and panty set I’m wearing underneath my atrocious outfit while performing this atrocious task and surrounded by this atrocious smell might somehow make the scene more… erotic.
It does not. But thinking positively can get you through the bad times, kids.
Husband and I then passionately (not passionately) wash the dog together in the backyard. It was really romantic. It was basically just like that scene in Ghost, except instead of pottery there was a smelly dog, and instead of a beautiful soundtrack there was the beautiful sound of us both retching.
When he did finally take my clothes off, it was in front of a hot shower and only because my hands were still full of skunk oil. He stuffed the tunic into a bag, and my beautiful undergarments were cast aside only so I could unceremoniously scrub every inch of my body with the most chemically scented products I could find. I emerged an exhausted yet clean woman who smelled strongly of citrus and some kind of flower scent made up in a Swedish laboratory.
Shadow has been forgiven for being kind of a dumbass (he’s really too cute to stay mad at), has had three de-skunking baths and a grooming, and has now been allowed to come back into the house. He is quite thrilled, but has the IQ of a dead goat, so I will be scanning the yard before he goes out again after dark and forgets what he learned last night.
And, as with all crazy things that happen in life, there are a few important lessons to be gleamed from this experience:
1. Telling your husband, “Well, at least this will make a great blog story” is probably not going to console him nearly as much as it did you. Weird, but true.
2. Just because the night ends up with your clothes off does not make it good night. At all.
3. Never plan Sexy Time. Sexy Time is nobody’s bitch.
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