💁🏻‍♀️: so what have you been up to?

💁🏼‍♀️: well you know, busy busy busy…just taking the kids to school and buying presents for all their friends. We just had a big Christmas party at the house.

💁🏻‍♀️: oh really?

💁🏼‍♀️: well, yeah, but it was just close friends and family

💁🏻‍♀️: I’ve known you since we were in middle school

💁🏼‍♀️: I know, it’s just that we wanted to keep the party kid friendly

💁🏻‍♀️: I’m not kid friendly?

💁🏼‍♀️: it’s just that…

💁🏻‍♀️: yes?

💁🏼‍♀️: it’s just that you talk about s.e.x.

💁🏻‍♀️: ok, your kids aren’t around right now. Why are you spelling out “sex?”

💁🏼‍♀️: could you keep your voice down? There are people around

💁🏻‍♀️: well we could have met in a secret undisclosed location but I didn’t know we’d be spilling nuclear codes. You don’t want me to talk about sex?

💁🏼‍♀️: No, I mean I would never censor you…

💁🏻‍♀️: but?

💁🏼‍♀️: well, all your stories are about you meeting some hot 30 year old playboy and having crazy sex for days

💁🏻‍♀️: and?

💁🏼‍♀️: well, it’s just kind of…sad. We just feel uncomfortable throwing our happy stable lives in your face. It just seems cruel to include you

💁🏻‍♀️: so your way of being kind is to keep me from parties where your daughter bangs on your piano and your only desserts were made by the filthy hands of your children, and there’s nowhere to sit because you’ve put off having grown up furniture in the house until the kids are old enough to not need a playroom instead of a dining room?

💁🏼‍♀️: I never thought of it that way…

💁🏻‍♀️: and the reason I can’t come is because I talk about all the hot guys I fuck?

💁🏼‍♀️: yes. Exactly

💁🏻‍♀️: ok, but let me ask you something first. Did I tell you about the 165 pure pounds of muscle ex-marine with a face for the gods who nailed me until he broke me in half last month?

💁🏼‍♀️: um, no

💁🏻‍♀️: yeah, well while we were having s.e.x. you were asleep because you had to get up early to nurse your four-year old. Guess you don’t need a dining room for that. Catch ya later!

—–

He grabs her hand and she laughs.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” she responds. “It’s just that someone once told me this would happen.”

He pulls her closer to him. “Did they tell you how the story ends? Because I’d hate for someone to ruin it for us, darling.”

“No. We’ll just have to improvise it from here.”

—–

Then why, my lord, should your life be held sacred above all others? Is it your blood? Does it run any color other than the vulgar red that flows in me? Or perhaps your mind then? Blessed no doubt with wisdom common men can only aspire to? How about your braun? Is there a hero hidden in those soft hands? A warrior enchanted by battle cries? Then maybe your sex? Prolific and true in its aim, capable of lusty feats and noble goals?

Why then, Prince, should your life be held in any higher esteem than mine, that of a woman? Why should you be saved in pristine halls lined with tapestries and I be forced to take bed with the maggots?