“I am so sick of sex,” I muttered as I trudged up the front steps of our ranch house.
The incredulous exclamation had me spinning around to face my husband.
“I must’ve heard you wrong, I could have sworn you said…” He shook his head.
“I’m sick of sex,” I repeated with a smile.
His confusion was amusing, but I loved that he never even started making wild assumptions or accusations.
“I don’t…” He frowned at me, looking utterly adorable. “But we…” He heaved a big sigh and gestured wildly with his hands. “Why?”
I had to laugh, and tripped back down the stairs to wrap my arms around his waist. “It’s spring. It seems like every animal on this place has got spring fever. Every time I turn around, there’s something having sex.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I even saw Bart and Daisy getting it on in the hayshed.” I giggled at the look on his face, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline. “I’m just sick of it. It seems like everyone except me is having sex, and I’m sick of it.”
“I’m not having sex,” he drawled.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “I should jolly well hope not, if I’m not.”
“Well,” he paused suggestively. “We could solve both our problems. I have it on good authority that the hayshed is mighty comfortable.”
I giggled. “All that prickly hay? We have a perfectly good bed upstairs.” I grabbed his hand, and turned and started back up the stairs, tugging him along behind me. He quickly caught up and we practically raced for the bedroom.