Happy Father's Day

In the paper, on the radio, and on the gogglebox, it's been nothing but ads for tools, hardware, and dumbass gadgets for the past week. Lame-ass DVDs and sadly predictable action movies. Somehow I don't remember last year's Father's Day period being so incredibly assaultive with the over-the-top appeals to buy Dad the most stereotypical crap in the world, tools and worthless gadgets, just garbage. It's as if every Dad in the world wants another wrench, another stupid, cheapo electronic game, or some idiotic golf accessory.

Me, I didn't want any of that. I got half of what I wanted, hand-made cards and a slightly elevated level of attention from my children. That's my reward, right there. I love that stuff, as hokey as it sounds. It goes right up on the corkboard in my office at home, so I can see it any time I want.

So what's the other half? Nookie, that's what.

I saw no inkling of this in the papers, in the media, nowhere. Where were the ads for lingerie stores, telling the ladies to make Father's Day special? Where were the Frederick's and Victoria's Secret Father's Day special catalogs back in late May? Where were the ads on the TV for sexy underclothing? That's all I wanted for Father's Day, some classy and racy underwear from the Good Lady Wife. I communicated that, as clearly as I could, and I know she heard me. But I was disappointed. I figured I would be, and was not let down in this assessment. She blew it off, just didn't do it. She knew what I wanted, but just ignored it.

Pretty fucking pathetic. I would think most 40-something wives would be pretty happy about a husband who still thinks she's wicked-sexy, hot, attractive, and still undoubtedly a delicious piece of sweet ass. But not mine. For whatever reason, this seems to be a chore for her. The heightened sexual response from the older woman that the media feeds isn't accurate in this case, not at all. It's just a big pain in the ass for her, another task to complete before the blessed relief of bed and sleep. I can understand completely now, and empathize completely as well, with those men who go off-campus and find a woman more willing to indulge them. To hell with young bimbos with pumped-up breasts and rampant immaturity; I'd like a mature, grown woman who's comfortable with herself, and knows how to both give and get. I'd like to go off-camput myself, but won't. Just can't do that.

So, the operative word is "stuck." Or maybe "trapped."

Happy fucking Father's Day. Anniversary is coming up in aother three weeks and I know that's going to be a let-down, too.