After everything I’ve observed my parents go through, I have to say I’m both impressed and a bit envious of the fact that they’ve continued to have this stellar sex life.
“We’ve always been in love and excited about one another,” my mother said on Sunday, and not the first time.
“Why do you think that is?” I asked, opening up another round of Session dark lager.
She told me she wasn’t exactly sure, but that it was probably a combination of things. “He was responsible for the finances; I was responsible for the house. He was the man, and I supported him. We were comfortable with those roles. We fought a lot, but we never went to sleep mad. And your father understood that sex was more about foreplay and me having an orgasm than him.”
Reflection always has an element of sugar coating or exaggeration, because growing up with them I don’t remember things always being quite that clear or amicable when it came to finances or “roles” in the house. Then again, what goes on behind closed bedroom doors is probably more important than any of that other stuff.
“Besides, what would your father do if he divorced me?” My mother added as we moved to the kitchen and started cutting up the cabbage to make Bigos, “Marry an American like some of his friends did, and then get taken for everything he’s worked hard for when she eventually decides he’s not enough? American women are more demanding than Polish women, everyone knows that.”
And maybe it was that , that was most important of any of that other stuff.