20 Signs That You Might Not Be Getting Enough Whoopie in Your Life

1. You become aroused simply walking through the produce section of the supermarket. (Stay away from the cucumbers and the carrots. And you might want to avoid the gourds as well, because some of those raised bumps can look very interesting.)

2. You seem to be having too much fun driving over speed bumps. (Especially if you circle the block just so you can hit the same patch again.)

3. You’re just trying to squirt some Hellman’s on your turkey sandwich and your mind goes places it shouldn’t. (And the noises those plastic bottles can sometimes make? It’s like the soundtrack from Debbie Does Dallas.)

4. You have no idea where the personal lubricant might be in the house. (And with things as dried out as they must be by this point, you’re going to need a gallon of that stuff.)

5. You find cobwebs in your underwear. (And Charlotte the spider has spun one of the webs to read “Love Don’t Live Here Anymore”.)

6. You can no longer remember the color of your bedroom ceiling. (Or whether or not that mirror is still there, the one everyone had to have in the late 70’s when the whole nation took drugs and became exhibitionists.)

7. You watch an entire season of an otherwise worthless TV show just because that one guy always takes his shirt off at some point in every episode. (You have no idea what the actual plot of the series is, but you can definitely and accurately describe the actor’s nipples to a police sketch artist, should the need arise.)

8. The word “arise” in the previous sentence triggers images that you would never share with your Sunday School teacher. (Unless your teacher also blushes when holding a bottle of mayonnaise, then you might have something in common that you can work into a discussion while the other folks are busy naming all the Apostles.)

9. When sitting at a local park, you can’t help but realize that every piece of playground equipment could be utilized in a creative sexual scenario of some kind, given enough stamina and flexibility. (But only after the kiddies have gone home. The little urchins don’t need to see you hurtling down the giant slide, completely naked, whilst your partner assumes a position at the end of the slide that will hopefully result in satisfaction and not hospitalization.)

10. You no longer have pet names for your private parts. (If you mention them at all, it’s usually in clinical terms to your doctor after one of the parts started doing something you didn’t appreciate.)

11. The list of desirable qualities in potential partners has dwindled over the years from an entire notebook of scribbled “must-haves” that you planned out when you were a dewy, attractive youth in your twenties to the current day, when things are much more creaky and fragile, and you now have just a two-word partner requirement: “life insurance”. (Or if you’re really desperate, one word: “pulse”.)

12. When in a bar, you no longer have to drink for hours until someone becomes blurrily attractive enough to qualify for a “last-call” hookup. Instead, it takes just two sips of wine and suddenly you’re humping the pool table and using an app on your smart phone to broadcast your phone number on the ceiling. (This is why you should always have a Designated Divider when bar-hopping with friends. This is the person responsible for keeping your horny ass away from strangers who don’t realize that you are suffering from a literal seven-year itch.)

13. You do the mental math and realize that the last time you actually had an orgasm, there were only 46 stars on the American flag. (Back in the day when social-etiquette still required that you write a tasteful, post-coital thank-you note to the one who done ya.)

“Dearest John Thomas, thank you ever so much for the lovely time we spent sliding about on a stack of fertilizer bags in your adorable little garden shed. It certainly appeared that you enjoyed it as well, what with your repeated invoking of certain religious figures just before the dismount. I do so hope that there will be a repeat performance. Perhaps even season tickets!

Sighingly, Lady Chatterly

P.S. Please advise if there is anything I can do to assist with the repairs to the tractor. I don’t think either of us quite expected that to happen. Perhaps next time we should leave the absinthe bottle out of the picnic basket…

14. You encounter a group of co-workers whispering about happiness over “The Big O” and you gleefully announce that you voted for President Obama as well. (The stunned look in their eyes convinces you that you should continue your journey to the copy room and never speak again.)

15. You have no idea what a MILF or a DILF is, but such things do appear to be very popular with certain segments of the Internet world. (Are they talking about new computer languages? Characters in a Disney movie? Another product that the Kardashians are trying to promote in their endless quest to actually do something of importance?)

16. You actually do check out the porn sites on the web from time to time, not for any pleasure-based purpose, but to see if they have invented any new positions or dress-code requirements that you might need to be aware of so you aren’t startled by any requests should your boudoir reopen for business. It’s just downright tacky when you can’t think of an answer to the question “Do you have a sling?”

17. You still don’t know why a milkshake would bring boys to your yard. Or why you would want to sing about it. Or what type of appetizer you should serve when this happens. (And what if you’re dairy-intolerant? Is that even important? And what brings the girls? Lattes? So many questions, so little time to mow the various lawns.)

18. Whatever happened to Dr. Ruth? She made things so simple. (“You ask the partner what partner likes, then you do that and everybody feel good. Serve strudel after, nice touch.”)

19. You no longer dress to maximize your sexiness. Now you dress to cover up the fact that most of the voting districts in your state have been realigned in a manner that is not the most appealing. (And most of the population has moved south.) It really is true that youth (and sex) are wasted on the young. When I was 21, all it took was a steady wind for me to present arms and I was ready to go. Now I know hundreds of exciting things to do. I just can’t get into the necessary position to exhibit my repertoire without needing medical assistance.

20. In the end, though, it’s not about how much or how often or how many medals you earn for endurance, strength or quickness of locating your clothing if someone knocks on the door that wasn’t supposed to be home. Sex, and especially sexiness, is all in the mind. Yes, there are primal grunters who are satisfied with the rudimentary aspects of life and don’t want to know about anything else (the Tea Party). But for most of us it’s the non-physical things. Intelligence is top on my list, very important, but we also have a certain spark in the eye, a smile that is genuine, a gentle tenderness, a shared passion for life, for words, for decency. The way a person really looks at you and willingly allows you to really look at them. No games, no baggage, just truth.

That’s what I find hot, that’s what I find sexy.

And that’s the kind of milkshake I would order every time…



Originally posted in “The Sound and the Fury” on 11/16/12 and “Bonnywood Manor” on 10/27/13 and 08/04/16. So, yes, this post is now a three-peat on this site, and there’s some degree of shame with such recycling. But I just like this one, coupled with the fact that my partner and I just binge-watched a TV show where that one guy always takes his shirt off for no apparent reason. It’s the small things that get us through, yes?


27 replies »

  1. I couldn’t agree with you more. 🙂 I love how you ended this post and especially the phrase “willingly allows you to look at them”. That says what’s really important.

    And now, about that slide … how does that go again? 😉

    Liked by 3 people

  2. Well, being as I have walked in the valley of perpetual non-sex for a very, very, very, very, veryyyyyyyyy long time now: coupled with the fact (yes, I didn’t intend to make that sound that way) that I now no longer have any appetite for all the rigmarole of trying to attract a new potential horizontal tango partner: wedded to the easyiness of not having to make any effort to be considered a low-level sex goddess ever again: I think it’s fair to say the next 30 to 40 years are going to be very dry!
    I did, however, think that #19 and #20 were pretty damn good summations of the weather change.

    Liked by 3 people

    • I like that, “the weather change”. This is another thing that I wish I had known in my salad days, when I was primping and posing and racing about in pursuit of bed-worthy conquests. All of that mess would prove to be unimportant. It took me years to understand the true significance of relationships, platonic or otherwise. The most important organ is the heart, and true happiness lies in appreciating what you were able to have and not what might be over the next hill…

      Liked by 2 people

  3. Um, didn’t need TWENTY reasons. I KNOW I’m not getting enough (read any at all). That would explain the increasing crabbiness on my part and the dust that seems to accumulate every time I sit down. But hilarious? Yes this post fulfills that requirement nicely, thank you! 😀

    Liked by 3 people

    • Oh, Partner and I are comfortable enough that one of us can dwell on a hot actor without the other going into a jealous tizzy, especially since we both usually prefer the same prototypes… 😉


  4. Re: “in the late 70’s when the whole nation took drugs and became exhibitionists.” I thought that was the 60’s… And I must be seriously depraved or deprived (like the Officer Krupke song from West Side Story) because I’ve never heard of DILF. Heard of the other. Are we talking “dead” here? Oye, the aged brain boggles.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I can’t really speak for the 60s, as my reporting skills were not quite honed yet. It wasn’t until the next decade that I was able to gather much more intelligence on the matter. As for DILF, the “d” is for Dad, so not quite so boggling..

      Liked by 1 person

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