Let's have a rousing round of applause for the middle-aged sex life, shall we?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

According to T.S. Eliot, "April is the cruelest month ... mixing memory and desire."

Well, we can mix memory and desire pretty much any month of the year, can't we?

I mean, at our age, marital relations are legal, licit and safe; no birth control pills, no oopses to worry about. Yet a perfect storm of life, work, family, social obligations and physical foibles conspires to remove any possible remnants of romance from our lives. The allegedly empty nest offers few dark corners to which one might sneak away.

For us Boomers, organizing a bit of "spontaneous" conjugal fun puts a NASA liftoff to shame:

Kids all gone home?

Check.

Animals all distracted?

Check.

Have your pills kicked in?

Check.

Have my pills kicked in?

Check.

Nitro handy?

Check.

OK, quick! Come here!

Of course, within the next ten minutes, the grandkids are texting and the dogs have shown up -- one likes to watch; one wants to help (way too weird), and one starts to whimper. At least one cat is up on the headboard, knocking stuff off of it to see what will happen. One partner's leg cramps up, while the other tries to ignore a mysterious back pain.

Ah, love.

Should memory kick in, all bets are off, because it wasn't always like this, was it?

There was a time when our bodies could take any contortions we requested, and with few complaints.

In the case of St. Pete and me, our romance began in Germany. We were young and in good health. We smelled good, relatively. The families were an ocean away.

And the feeling of new love, remember that? When you'd look at your partner and think, "There you are!"

Nowadays, it's, "Oh, it's you. Still."

Bill Cosby once compared newly married couples to older ones thusly: "When you're young, it's 'Catch me! Catch me!' ... 'OK, here I come!' ... which later becomes, 'Can I catch you tomorrow?' ... 'OK, catch me tomorrow.'"

So, don't think back. That way madness lies. Or at least a decent head start on depression. Look at it this way: The fact that we're willing to go through all this extra effort says something good about our marriages, doesn't it? If you can look at your aging spouse and still see the youngster you married, count yourselves lucky.

Stock up on the K-Y and BENGAY, and bar the door. Take the phone off the hook. Who says middle-aged marriage has to be a wasteland?



 
Reach Derri Scarlett at derriscarlett@yahoo.com.