Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Had we but world enough, and time

More “dog bites man” news this morning, as we read that one in nine women prefers chores to sex. When survey companies resort to laboriously “proving” such staple fare of third-rate comedians worldwide, it is a sure sign that business is slow and the silly season is upon us.

“like any other household chore”
“an irritating annoyance”
“only enjoyable for men”

Naturally, the temptation is to blame the men for these problems, and it does not help that one’s first sight of the naked male generally engenders reminders to put brussel sprouts on the shopping list. But one can’t help but wonder whether we are not confusing cause and effect here. After all, if one goes into something expecting to be bored, one is very likely to be proven right.

In my younger years, I found myself on several occasions putting considerable effort into pleasing a young lady in a variety of ways met with rave reviews elsewhere, only to founder against their native disinterest in the act itself. My repertoire exhausted and the cliffs unbreached, these encounters invariably ended with the girl’s impatient invitation to “go ahead – don’t wait for me”, whereupon passion flopped lifeless on that cruel and rocky shore.

Of course, I might just be a poor picker. I certainly seemed to have a knack for choosing lesbians, if the number who were lesbians the next morning was anything to go by.

“The Welsh, both men and women, said they were having sex more frequently than adults in other regions.” Doesn’t say with what, tho’.


Lubricious Wales, yesterday. Just one big al-fresco brothel, that place…

25 comments:

R. Sherman said...

Reminds me of the story where the lady is complaining of difficulty in reaching, ahem, bliss, as it were. Whereupon, her companion replies: "Well, of course you have problems. There's a big sweaty guy on top of you."

Cheers.

Ivan the Terrible said...

Wow! You'd think her companion would've pulled the sweaty guy off first before getting started.

Well, when I say "pulled off", I don't mean in the masturbatory sense. What I mean is he could've reached around to... no, wait. He could've come up behind him and oh forget it.

f:lux said...

"A representative sample of 1941 adults took part in a survey commissioned by Zestra, the makers of a massage oil the company claims enhances female sexual pleasure."

1941. Majority of blokes off fighting, even if they were lovers so, not a sexy year.

Ivan the Terrible said...

Unless they were oiling each other up in their foxholes...

Foot Eater said...

Do your genitals look like Brussels sprouts then, Ivan? I'd make an appointment with my doctor if I were you.

apprentice said...

Mmm maybe chores includes sitting on top of the washing machine on the spin cycle, or trying to text without using your fingers while the damn thing's on vibrate, women just have so many damned options these days.
And at least the lesbians won't shave their legs with your razor.

f:lux said...

Pfft... who cares. I'm just peeved they didn't ask me. But I come from a long line of sheepshaggers, apparently, so hey!

Ivan the Terrible said...

Sneer at my sprouts, will you? Nemo me impune lacessit! Better sprouts than frozen peas, Footie...

Welcome, Apprentice, and thanks for the smorgasbord of chore-related options. Seems the guys are getting more superfluous by the minute. At least I needn't feel too bad at being past it, then :)

Foot Eater said...

I wasn't talking size, Ivan, rather greenness and leafiness. By the way...

Q: What do you call someone conceived in a Belgian house of ill-repute?

A: A brothel sprout.

Ivan the Terrible said...

Foolish boy, Footie - size is the only metric of consequence when dealing with testicles. Let Wise Uncle Ivan be your guide in such matters, and all shall be well...

Desargues said...

Gosh, I envy that man Foot Eater. I've been in grad school in North America four years now, and nobody's ever told me a single damn joke, while Footsie could churn them out like projectile vomiting. Maybe I shoulda gone to med school instead. Keep'em coming, Doc.

And now for the nugatory remark of the day: note how circling round the issue fo the elusive female orgasm is guaranteed to fill one's comment box. Try posting a paragraph on the federal budget deficit, and you'll hear the crickets chirping. But I'm surprised The Problem Child Bride hasn't yet interjected to defend the Welsh's fondness of ovines. :-)

Anonymous said...

You said this was a family blog, but you didn't necessarily forbid discussions of reach arounds and coming from behind in doing so. It's technically true, I'll give you that. Very clever.

Ivan the Terrible said...

I just open the door, Anon - if people scamper through, that's their own affair... :)

PI said...

So sad!
Plums rather than brussel sprouts I find.
Foot eater - only if you have a lisp!
Des: Sam is Scottish not the same as Welsh.
Why does the phrase ' tie a knot in it' occur to me ?

Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said...

Des, you'll never catch me defending the Welsh about anything.

Uncle Vanya, I'll wager there are no frozen peas anywhere in the sweltering British isles at the moment. Mushy peas, perhaps, stewing in the shade of the Great British male gut as it swings coquettishly and ever pinkly down the thoroughfares of the land.

Gorilla Bananas said...

You should have tried chasing her before attempting to mate. That usually gets 'em going in the jungle.

Ivan the Terrible said...

Ewww. Thanks, Sam - that image has already outstayed its welcome and looks set to linger for a while yet...

Ivan the Terrible said...

And GB, I doubt chasing would have helped. The whole problem was that the females concerned were so unmoved either way at the prospect of mating that they couldn't be bothered to take evasive action. "Let's get it over with" seemed to be their motto.

In fact, I can't recall a single instance where some duelling and chasing were required where the end result wasn't very satisfactory for both parties. Maybe we've stumbled upon something, there...

R. Sherman said...

Re: G.B's comment. I thought everyone was fond of the "thrill of the chase." Sort of like going on safari but just taking photos or "catch and release" fishing.

Come to think of it, that sort of describes my entire romantic history in college.

Cheers.

Ivan the Terrible said...

Before or after you became a teacher, Randall? Enquiring minds want to know...

Also, photos?

ncp car parks said...

When it comes to testicles, and it usually does, you can have too much of a good thing. A, uh, friend of mine had elephantisasis of the testes and apart from making rear entry nearly fatal for his girlfriend he quickly tired of being constantly asked why he hung his shopping bags from his open fly.

Ivan the Terrible said...

As long as they didn't weigh them and charge him at check-out, Parky...

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