He was a fast machine, kept his motor clean, and was the best darn thing since Steve McQueen. Nuptials followed.
To say that she was frustrated was an understatement. Amanda and I met about thirteen years ago. Shortly thereafter, she met her husband and sparks flew. They married, bought a home, and settled into married life. And for awhile there, he shook her all night long. Then there was a gradual decline in their wall shaking and earth quaking activity. When Scott did make a move, he resembled the Vitamix high powered blender with its speedy performance. She wanted more of a concrete mixer that is known for its consistent high intensity yet slow churning mechanism. Once the honeymoon wore off, Amanda found out Scott’s true colors and the reality of how long lovemaking for the married normally lasts. Sexual connection was like trying to bat a baseball with a clothesline. Being the fairly smart woman that she was, she made the unselfish decision to tape a life size poster of Scarlett Johansson’s lustful lips to the ceiling directly above their bed. Which was only fair, since she kept a framed picture of Robert Downey Jr. close by.
The delicate subject of sex should be handled with care, and a good color palette. They say if you paint a room the shade of your lovers eyes, you will be linked passionately to that person forever. Apart from recruiting a sex therapist to initiate intimacy, Amanda used the mood enhancing strategy of purchasing a gallon of fresh paint to give the bedroom new pizzaz. An aphrodisiac of sorts, without a dozen bluepoint oysters, Spanish fly, eclectic mix of mojo intensifiers, or resorting to finding a new husband. I suppose it’s better to have loved and divorced than to have lived with somebody that doesn’t like the horizontal Hokey Pokey. Mrs. Right Now wanted something that would give her mate a reminder that she still existed. So she decided to eliminate the surrounding despair that was already coating the bedroom drywall. The uninspiring color withstanding was called Snakebite Leather. It fueled the longing for a genuine python purse, but it didn’t bring out the animal in Scott.
Amanda attempted to pick a motivating new shade from the hefty amount of hues found in color swatches. I went with her to Lowe’s, that great big tool shed of trinkets that employs people to solve certain problems in daily life. Which normally includes leaky pipes and worn out patio furniture. She only wished she had those problems instead. We noticed one aisle sold fans, something that would benefit her if she ended up being super hot and sweaty. Another aisle sold ropes, chains, cable ties, and lubricants, arousing our suspicion that the multi-selectional superstore also provides sexually transmitted teases. We bypassed those lures and proceeded to the paint section.
In the weeks that followed, Amanda tried painting in pale tones. But yellow initiated sleep, not sex. Blue Velvet might have been marvelous for a movie, but it’s also the color of Smurfs, bruises, and toilet bowl cleaner, which ended up nauseating Scott instead of inspiring him. She also considered the serene color Almond Toast, thinking she could have sex AND breakfast in bed. Next thing she knew, her hubby had nut and toasted sandwich crumbs ground into her sheets. Then she painted the walls English Toffee, but needed to go on a strict diet. The truth remained that if Amanda had tinted the walls anything food related, she might have needed a forklift to get her out of the house. And Scott would have likely been feasting from a party platter rather than gazing sensuously at his wife. She tried the Benjamin Moore color called Grandma’s Sweater, but Amanda didn’t want to be in the sack counting down the days till she was a white-haired matriarch. And the color Elephant’s Breath would have been a sickening reminder of what permeates from mouths every morning. Sherwin Williams was no help either. Though it provided the dazzling tone Poseidon, their concentration would have been averted to boat disasters. She could have painted the bedroom bright neon orange, and still nothing would have instigated her significant other.
Amanda even thought of altering her painting plans by taking him to a candlelit cabin deep in the woods. Which could have been good, unless it was Friday the 13th, or the cabin is in Texas and they heard a chain saw. Amanda thought that breast enlargement would increase her chances of togetherness. But the cost of wanting children outweighed that idea. She constantly felt the indiscriminate distrust of remote controls, exacerbated by every Sports channel available. Especially when they take precedence over ‘parking the car in the garage.’ She finally went to Victoria Secret and picked out the teeniest cheekini she could find and bought one in every color. But with Scott’s sightless eyes, she wasn’t knocking him out with her American thighs. Amanda soon found out that Scott was colorblind. By then, she visualized the one thing she could do with her leftover wedding matches. Except she did wonder how she would she sleep if the bedroom was burning.
We gals entertain an average of fifty thoughts a minute, one of which focuses on lovin’. At the end of the day, we want our souls to be rejuvenated, our hair messy, and our eyes sparkly with sensual completion. In order to shift from sweats and granny panties to super sexy takes shopping, for just about anything and everything that might stimulate the senses. Now one would think that Scott was a lucky, lucky man. Till he got the bill.
Amanda ended up working overtime in the seduction line at Lowe’s when she realized that all colors aren’t created equal. After she couldn’t find a paint named Let’s Get it On, Amanda settled for blue. In pill form. And they lived happily ever after.
(Posts can be seen in the weekend editions of The Parson’s Sun newspaper in Kansas)