We’re at the Hotel Motel Holiday Inn
by: Janet D.
If you have children, you know that finding time to be … ahem … intimate can be challenging.
When they are babies, you’re too exhausted to even THINK about it, much less DO it.
When they are older, you have to wait until they’re all tucked in before sneaking in some “us” time.
And even then, unless you remembered to lock the door …
Well, let’s just say that I have been known to find a sleeping toddler curled up at the foot of the marital bed.
And been rudely interrupted by an older child making an announcement of impending vomit.
When the children are teens or twentysomethings, you still aren’t safe — because then, they make snide remarks about what they “heard” or didn’t want to hear, so really, Mom, could you guys not do that ever again????
Ha. I may be old, but I’m not dead.
Anyway, since the old homestead is a place lined with landmines when it comes to finding the time and privacy to do what comes naturally, I have learned to love — and idolize — a rare treat.
Admit it. There is nothing sexier than slipping between the sheets at the Ramada … knowing that you are really truly a.l.o.n.e!
I love love love hotel sex.
No one cares if you make noise.
No one cares if you hang from the chandelier.
No one cares if you walk around in the all-together.
And no one will knock on the door because she needs an ibuprofen and can’t find the bottle.
photo courtesy of google images