Divorced Divas. Chapter 2
Let’s get one thing straight right now. This is not my fault. My husband is non-negotiable. Actually, I’ve got the terminology wrong. My husband is negotiable. I would happily negotiate on him for a man who values me. What I meant to say is that my husband won’t negotiate with me on getting a divorce. Oh, and to add insult to injury, Brad has announced his impending departure from our marital home. He’s moving out soon.
I’ve tried. As pathetic as it sounds, I have desperately tried to reason with him. Alessandra giving me those books and sex toys shocked me into doing so. I told her that I didn’t need to read sex manuals or experiment with implements. I’m a married woman, for God’s sake. I know all about sex. I have two kids to prove it, albeit ones with such bad attitudes I would happily trade them in on a new car if only someone would offer me more than the current offer in place on my crappy Holden Astra. But she waved away my protestations, citing the fact that had I actually been good at it (sex, that is) my husband would not have wanted to rid himself of me in the first place! The nerve of the woman.
I will concede that my sex life has been rather lack-lustre over the last year, okay, last few years, of our marriage. We had sex on Saturday nights. Well, some Saturday nights, depending on our level of intoxication, but we always tried to ensure that we did it on special occasions; birthdays, wedding anniversaries and the like. Oh, and let’s not omit public holidays, and we do have a lot of public holidays in Australia. Yes, sex on public holidays—Australia Day and Anzac Day for example, although I always did think sex on the Queen’s Birthday was rather inappropriate. Just didn’t seem right somehow, and I never could get Liz’s dour face out of my mind whilst Brad was thrusting into me while singing ‘God save our gracious Queen!’ So, yes, we still did the deed, and if you research the statistics on the frequency of marital sex following the honeymoon phase, you will see that Brad and I sat slap bang in the mid-range: or in other words, we were normal. I know this because I Googled it, and I now realise that while I can’t exactly be described as a slut, neither am I frigid.
To be continued…