…in defense of my husband’s Playboy

When Count Waffles the Terrible was born some very good friends of ours got him a gift. Our 6-week old received a subscription, in his name, to Playboy. It was meant as a joke, but my husband was thrilled. (We, being good friends, then enrolled their newborn twins in the Youth Communist League-but that’s another story. Heh)
And there it came, month after month, in that black plastic bag…so the neighbors couldn’t see what nasty mag we were getting.
Not so long ago, a few friends of mine, unknowingly, began trashing this magazine.
It was offensive to women. Or so I was told.
Their husbands did things with it. Or so they thought.
And no one in the real world could possibly look like that.
And since I’ve now used this blog to get on my soapbox, I figure why stop.
Hoooray for masturbation! Hoooray for Playboy!
Stop blushing. You know you are still reading.
First of all, have you ever actually sat down (toilet or otherwise) and read Playboy? Despite all the women bending over, its really very intelligent. I swear. I just finished an article on Shel Silverstein. Yes, THAT Shel Silverstein.
Second of all, I’d like to know how many of my mommyblogger friends out here are getting it regularly. Or giving it regularly. I try my damnedest to keep the Kaiser, ahem, satisfied…but in case you were born this week and just started reading my blog, we’ve got a 9-month old and a toddler. The 9-month old still sucks my tits and the toddler and the baby are in our bed.
Which means sex, when we can, in another room.
Did I mention my brother lives with us?
Now, we can easily get around all these little sex obstacles with some planning, or just by staying up late. But let’s be real here, when the hell is the last time YOU stayed up late?
Just last night I was going to stay up late and spend some quality Kaiser lovin’ time…and I fell asleep putting the Count to bed.
HOOORAY PLAYBOY.
Now on to the trickier part of this…the whole, unrealistic body image, plastic, fake, toned, fit, boobheavey women gracing those pages…I’m going to propose something to you that I can guarantee you are NOT going to like…
That could be us.
I’m not saying face wise. We can’t change what we landed here with.
But that could be us.
Sure, we’ve had kids.
Sure, we gots da flab.
Sure, we have mother bodies.
But that could be us.
We could get off our asses and exercise.
We could make time to tone ourselves.
We could work hard to look like that.
We could.
Personally, I could actually put on makeup and something other than sweats everyday. That might help. Add in some exercise, less goldfish crackers, and I just might be on to something.
SHOULD we? I don’t know. Obviously we’re engulfed in more important matters.
But if I can try and stay awake to take care of the Kaiser. I could probably try to get up early to go to Yoga.
Two small things that would just add to my tiredness. And let’s face it, that’s not going away…so why not add ??
And I’d like to give you one more, delicate, reason why you should either stop trashing your man’s Playboy or run out and get him one.
The women are hot. There. I’ve said it.
They are hot. And when that thing is laying around the bathroom and I pick it up, I get turned on. And then I work even harder to make time for the Kaiser.
I’m not afraid to admit it. I’m not ashamed. And I’m not going to pretend with you, my good friends.
There is one trick, with this whole Playboy thing, though.
I am forever reminding the Kaiser to put the damn thing UNDER the sink counter, especially when playgroup is coming.