I have a story to tell you.
It’s a story about a woman who’s been married for seven years now, and while she may feel a bit itchy at times, she’s proud of the fact that she would never go looking for someone else to scratch that itch.
Yet, that itch remains.
Because the dude legally obligated to scratch that itch is not doing so as often as he should.
She loves him – most of the time. She likes him – some of the time. They are fortunate enough to have overnight babysitting every other weekend for regular date nights. These dates are usually dinner and a movie, and on one of those dinner dates recently, the woman decided she would broach the subject of her itch. She thought that maybe giving some compliments would motivate her man to return the favour, thereby making her feel a little sexy and desireable – which goes a LONG way to helping scratch an itch.
She suggested they dine at the restaurant where they first met, and by some cosmic happenstance, they were seated at the exact table they had sat at on their first date, although the dude, of course, had no recollection of that.
She began with what she thought was a VERY flattering compliment:
“You are sexier now than you were the day I met you eight years ago, sweetheart”. (This is a really hot compliment for a dude who can, at times, be rather obsessed with his aging appearance – to the point where he asks for Botox as a Christmas gift.)
To which the dude responded with…nothing but a cursory “I am? Thanks!”
No return volley, no quasi-compliment, not one flattering comeback.
The woman counted to ten, because she was adamant that this date night was not going to end in a fight like many of them had lately.
“Uhhh, don’t you think when someone pays you a nice compliment, it’s gentlemanly and romantic to say something nice back to them?”
(The woman admits that she was fishing, and that it’s probably a sign of her vast insecurities that she wanted – needed – the dude to return a compliment, but she had decided at this point that hearing some compliments were going to help sooth her itch, and she wasn’t about to let his denseness prevent that from happening.)
“Oh! Uhhh, yeah – you look lovely!” was the husband’s response.
The woman was put out. “Lovely” was a word used to describe your mother’s Easter bonnet, or your aging auntie’s rose garden – NOT the word you used if you wanted to get into your wife’s pants and wanted her to want you to do so.
So the woman told him just that – she wanted him to come up with something a bit more passionate than “lovely” to let her know he still found her attractive.
To which the dude replied “You really do yourself up well!”
Now, despite the fact that the woman felt as though the man was really telling her that she was mutton dressed up to look like spring lamb, she patiently explained to him again the folly of this non-compliment, and gave him further instructions to compliment something specific about her looks.
“You have really nice lips for kissing, and great hair”.
Now the woman was feeling better – these were parts of her that weren’t painted on or gussied up with expertly-tailored clothes! Yet somehow she needed just a bit more – after all, she was feeling really itchy and needed confirmation that her man was still even interested in being her itch-scratcher.
“That’s more like it! Now, can you compliment something below my neck?”
Quite frankly, the woman knew she was skating on thin ice here, because she knew that before meeting her, the dude was not generally drawn to women who had such generous curves in the bottom-half of her pear. Yet, she also knew that there were at least a FEW attributes south of her chin that were worth noting, and she felt that her husband owed her the effort of mentioning them once every couple of years.
“You have great boobs!” the dude enthusiastically replied, thinking he was acing this examination.
“What’s so great about them?” the woman prompted.
“They’re nice and small!” he exclaimed triumphantly, with his hands shaping cups the size of half oranges.
Despite the man’s rare appreciate of non-Pam Anderson sized bazoongas, the woman interpreted this as another non-compliment, applying the man’s love of “small” to her rather “not small” derriere and legs.
At this point, the woman gave up.
She is learning to accept that perhaps scratching your own itch may be the best approach after all.
Thanks for reading my blog! Feel free to share it, and if you’d like to hear more from me, slide over to the right side of your screen and “Like” my Facebook page, follow me on Twitter and subscribe to get my latest post in your email inbox – yes, that’s right – stalk me!
You may also like reading my blog posts at Conceived in my Heart on YummyMummyClub.ca – check it out!