Five legitimate excuses to get out of sex with your partner: the Mash sex columnist writes

Lower your sexpectations with the Mash’s middle-aged sex columnist, Jen Prentice

NOBODY wants sex, at least not with the person they share a bed with. It’s a faff, tiring, and engenders powerful emotional connections you could do without. 

But sometimes, on summer evenings when romance hangs heavy in the air, neither of you is too tired, neither of you is too drunk and the kids have gone to sleep, a fuck seems almost inevitable. It isn’t. You can always get out of it:

It’s Monday

Sexual euphoria and Mondays do not mix. The start of the week is the time for unshakeable heaviness about the state of the human condition, not carnal pleasure. Why prolong it when you can lapse into unconsciousness and wake up with one working day behind you?

No reasonable partner can expect you to be up for it when tomorrow’s only fucking Tuesday. That’s no day to wake up with cystitis. Everyone on the school run will see you swigging cranberry juice and know exactly what’s been going on.

You’re in no state for it

The human body needs maintenance, just as a car does, and the Kia Sportage of your body is knee-high with Ginsters packets in its allegorical footwell. If I’ve lost you there, what I’m saying is the woman’s not shaved her legs and the man’s got detestably sweaty balls.

Can you really paper over the cracks by hoisting your leg into the sink for a quick warm-water splash, or straddling the bath tap in the vain hope it’ll be less trouble than a full shower? No. This vehicle needs a full valet before it fucks, to mix my metaphors.

You’re meant to be trying something new

We’re all creatures of habit. And just as you know where your husband left his car keys, you know exactly how long he’ll spend on your tits before deciding foreplay’s over and it’s penetration time. Which is reassuring, easy and directly contravenes that chat you had about revitalising your sex life.

Conversations like that are money in the bank. Having summoned the effort to broach the subject, you can now wield it like a weapon to nip any spontaneity in the bud. An ordinary, familiar shag, at this point, would be a betrayal of those promises. No shag at all, conversely, is fine.

You really went for it at dinner

The pleasures of the flesh are many, but at this stage in the marriage they come chiefly from Deliveroo. And after licking out a foil tin of Lebanese mezes, the thought of applying that same tongue to your girlfriend’s fanny is numbing. Neither of you needs any more meat inside you.

Is it the death-knell of passion that you’d rather have a food delivery moped shooting up your drive than your boyfriend shooting up your muff? No. It’s inevitable. Food sustains life. Sex merely creates it, and long-term that’s a pain in the arse.

You’re approaching a season finale

Once past episode six of an eight-part series, all sexual activities are automatically suspended until the ending. How can you prioritise a simple, low-budget, predictable penis over the sophistication and class of The Staircase? 

Yes, you’ve put work into your long-term relationship, but you’ve put just as many hours into Saul Goodman, and we all know which is going to get your blood pumping faster. If your partner’s really that desperate for it, wank him off.

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Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

Someday there’ll be a blue plaque outside the house where you grew up. And it’ll say ‘That wanker lived here’.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

This week your romantic hopes will be dashed, you’ll be betrayed by a friend, a new love will blossom and you’ll be exposed as a cheating arsehole. You knew the deal when you entered Love Island.

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

Imagine if every person you met had their own complex inner life, hopes, dreams etcetera? Good thing they don’t and they’re just minor characters in your enthralling story.

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

All my tattoos mean something. For example, this one means I’d been drinking all day in a pub next to a tattoo parlour.

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

To be fair anyone catching a tit in the wringer had pretty pendulous tits already.

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

You heard kids should master a language and a musical instrument, but you fucked up. Now your 14-year-old plays the Spaniard and speaks fluent bassoon.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

Take the blue pill and stay in wonderland. Take the red pill and see how deep the rabbit hole goes. Take the pill with the little Mitsubishi logo on and find a new appreciation for drum and bass.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

You follow one of those Out of Context social media accounts for your favourite TV show, but you already know the context of every single line. So it’s a charade just like your relationship.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

Your prostate is the size of a lemon! screams the email. Sure, but sometimes you wish women would like you for your personality.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

Nothing makes you feel happier than when a hotel folds the towel into a little swan. And nothing makes you feel sadder than drying the crack of your arse with its beak.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

Watching other people play videogames on Twitch is how you relax in the evening. And that’s not weird because you were the youngest of three brothers in the 1980s.

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

Scotland having a unicorn as their national animal is taking the piss. Might as well have the Gruffalo or Johnny 5.