Oh dolls, what has the world become? Wrote an article for the paper called, Sex and the Smartphone detailing a recent survey in which women profess they would give up sex for a month before they would sacrifice their smartphones for the same thirty days. Dahlings–tell me it isn’t so.
Good news is, my editors believe the story will go viral and you can help with that little trick, by visiting guardianlv.com/2013/12/sex-and-the-smartphone/. Visit early and often. In the new high tech world, hits equal success. Who’d have thought? But back to the heartbreak at hand. Ladies–you would rather give up sex than smartphone? I feel the need to mix up a dirty martini, two olives and recline on a chaise heaving a great sigh at the state of things.
Instead, I’ve come up with a list. A list of all the things one should give up before sex. When your husband up and dies and you’re out of choices, you envy those with free reign over a partner they know well and often. Don’t take that for granted dolls.
Thing One: Believing that sex will be better when you are skinny, in better shape, or have a better ass. Guess what? He’s a guy. He doesn’t care. All his brain registers is: “Yay me–I’m gonna get laid. Woohoo.” And his inner child does the happy dance. Hopefully not too soon. Sister you can always turn off the light, lean back on the pillow, not flat, not sitting. Everybody looks good this way. The fat just kind of forms a deposit behind you where no one can see it.
Things Two: Exercise. My aversion to anything more than a brisk walk, preferably carrying a water bottle filled with wine, may be well known. But given the choice, my dears, choose sex before exercise. Use sex as your exercise. Endorphins are endorphins. It’s much easier to get them on your back than running, an elliptical or some other nonsense. No brainer. Make it a workout. When he breathlessly asks what got into you, smile and count the calories burned.
Thing Three: Sleep. You can sleep when you’re dead. Winks lost playing with your better half will pay off in the end and you can always take a nap; everyone else in the office does.
Thing Four: Putting it off until tomorrow. Really, dolls, no time like the present and besides, it’s worth the rosy glow in your cheeks–both pairs.
Thing Five: Pearls and heels. Seriously, we are not having this conversation are we? Dahling, pearls and heels go hand in hand with sex so, no. Foregoing pearls and heels does not interest me in the least.
Thing Six: Your toys. I hear it everyday. Do not prefer a toy over your man. Teach your stud the tricks of the trade–he can run a company, he has the ability to learn the ins and outs of you. Perhaps it’s time for mad skill lessons with the boardroom door locked, non? Punish the naughty boy who doesn’t catch on quickly.
Thing Seven: Technology. A couple hours a day unplugged will do a body good. Hint: imagination.
Those of us who refuse to give up our flip phones know the superiority of unpluggedness. A comedian on Conan said the only people who still carry a flip phone are either drug dealers or serial killers. Or, perhaps my dear, girls with better things to do than march about in public, head down, unable to view the beauty surrounding us, human and otherwise.
Smartphones interfere everywhere. At a recent wedding, sitting at the dining table, all feasters had phones on the table to the right of their plates. Is this a thing–a new etiquette for which I am caught unaware–forks to the left, cell phones to the right? After all, we are at a wedding with our closest friends. Someone more important than the bride we adore and the chums surrounding us is desperately trying to reach us on a Saturday night? On the way in, slip your phone into his suit jacket pocket. Later, you can reach in to signal you’re ready to go. Wait–he’s not wearing a suit? To a wedding? Oh dear, I am sorry.
Pick your head up Princess. I want to see the color of your eyes.
Ladies are not the only offenders, but in this vein they are equal opportunity miscreants. If one more of the chickens attempts conversation with me while texting, head down, barely acknowledging my existence, I will toss that damn thing right out the window. Do they not realize every utterance is valuable, a pearl in itself, worthy of undivided attention? Evidently not. Pfft.
Another study prompts people between 18 and 34 to divulge their smartphone habits. What do we learn? A full twenty percent use their smartphone during sex. Color me aghast. Unless you are recording something awfully important for the two of you to share later–and how revolting would that be–you do not need proof. That’s what babies are for. And besides no one wants to see flab bounce on film or yet another penis immortalized via phone. What’s next? A text: “Hey Babe, Boink!” And you’re done. Shame, shame, shame little ones.
No wonder all the good ones are flocking to us old ladies. We pay attention. The older set flirts and plays and remembers to turn the phone off convincing a worthy suitor our attention is his. If we find his skills lacking, we don’t check our texts. We just call him a cab and have breakfast alone. We know everybody’s flab may bounce a bit, but women of certain age know his best performance comes from a partner who closes her eyes ‘cuz he’s just that good. If we do get bored, we steal a glance at our fabulous stilettos and stroke our pearls making both of us feel the elation.
Ladies, give the man a reason to put down the damn phone. You are that irresistible. And if he doesn’t recognize that? Breakfast alone means you get to eat more.