Of course, after writing “Why She Won’t Have Sex With You” all I could think about was sex, when I should  have been thinking about moving.

I know I, and most women, don’t like having sex when there is stuff to do.  Guys just do not seem to care, but women care. 

Maybe it’s like the time Chris wanted to get a glass desk and all I could think about was how I would be the one entrenched in a never-ending battle with it, armed only with a bottle of Windex.  

I cared.

But I just couldn’t shake what Robert said. 

“And the sweat, dust, no shower thing – what is so bad about being natural and awakening the primal forces?” 

What is so bad?  Honestly, I don’t know.  Theoretically, what is wrong with it if we are both  gross?  You wouldn’t even necessarily have to get the bed dirty.  But still, I resist.  I just don’t feel sexy . 

Instead I feel like this, without the peanut aphrodisiac…

A lot of guys think they want a sex kitten who flounces around all the time being sexually suggestive, but the law of diminishing returns is in full effect.  At some point, they start to tune it out which is why the smart woman  knows when to withdraw from the market, when to artfully tease, and when to, ahem, go full throttle.

And never, in any of those scenarios, am I grimy and ‘earthy’.  No where am I tired and cranky.  No where is there a looming deadline.  No where do I smell.

And then, right at that moment, that’s when he grabbed my shoulders, looked me in the eye, and made me eat my own  words.  He said, “If I have a problem, I will let you know.“

I realized that when I reined him in – even if it feels ‘justified’ – he feels less masculine.  I mean it’s not like he is asking me to do the Tijuana Backend Twist; it’s nothing ethically offensive.  I just feel self-conscious.  Horribly, painfully, middle-school-dance self-conscious. 

And I realized, men don’t care.  Men (most men) don’t care if they smell less than fresh.  Men don’t care if they are covered in paint.  Men, to my dismay, don’t care if there is dirt under their nails.  They don’t care if their toenails could slice up the bedsheets.  They don’t care if their underwear is two days old.  They don’t care if they are sweaty.  They don’t care if they have shaved or not.

Fine.  Fine.  If you  don’t care, then I don’t care. 

Ok, well that’s a lie.  I do care.  But I’m going to do it anyway.  It’s feminine empowerment; it’s an Engvall-esque you are welcome!   

You still want to do it when we’ve been camping, haven’t showered in two days, and I look like a cave woman?  It is on, gentlemen!