Dear Thumper

"My husband doesn't even notice me anymore"

Dear Thumper,
 
     I feel so old.
 
    It's like my husband doesn't even notice me anymore. He comes home from work, eats, watches TV, goes to bed... it's like I'm only there to cook and clean. While he was never overly romantic, it's gotten to the point where I'm just another piece of furniture that he passes on his way to the TV- sort of like a coat rack that occasionally speaks.
 
    How do I get him to be with me more?
 
    - Heather
 
 Dear Heather,
 
    I used to know a guy in Halifax named Earl. Earl was a roofer, a big black guy, maybe 50 years old when I knew him... very country, as they say in those parts.
 
    Earl had one prized possession- his new pickup truck. I'm not good with trucks, but it's one of those ones with the Hemi. Even though it was his work truck, Earl kept it spotless. You could usually find Earl just by looking for the truck.
 
    It is said that no human rides in the front seat with Earl. The only one allowed in the front with Earl is his 120 pound Rottweiler, "Pooh Bear."

   This stipulation is broken for no one... not even Earl's wife. "She stopped asking to go down to Hosea's with me not long after I introduced this policy," said old balls-of-steel Earl.
 
    While I'm sure that the argument at Earl's house over this decision was tremendous, Pooh Bear makes a terrific anti-theft system for the truck while Earl- his wife nowhere to be seen- discusses the affairs of the day with the other locals at the tavern.
 
    Men are like that, Heather. They revel in being heartless beasts... but you can't have sex with chocolate, so we need to work a little mojo here.
 
    Marriage goes against the basics of nature. Few carnivore males of any species stick around after the kids are born, and most are raising up off the cot minutes after copulation. The feeling is usually mutual... females of species that can hunt effectively on their own- like the praying mantis- often kill the male after the sex act.
 
    Depending on how good you look, you may need to introduce a few tricks into the day-to-day affairs of your marriage. Dress sexier.... women didn't end up being the ones in skirts due to some male conspiracy theory or something. We have better legs. Use them for something other than what God intended them... unless God is a lot cooler than I'm giving Him credit for.
 
    Try growing your hair longer. A recent study said that 99% of males are suckers for long hair. History is full of people who gained empowerment through hair: Rapunzel, Samson, Jennifer Aniston, Ben Wallace... and two billion Chinese simply can't be wrong about Michelle Yeoh.
 
    You could try seducing one of the local teens (18 and over only, please), but it sounds like you're pretty happy with the other 19 hours of the day when the husband is either at work or asleep. A horny teen has a way of screwing up the Happy Home, anyhow. I'd stick with trying to add some spice to the relationship you're already in.
 
    I can only tell you what works for me. I used to jump on my husband the moment he came in the door. I suppose the best visual I could give you would be how Dino reacts when Fred comes home, only more sexual. I'd only do it now and then, so it was impossible to predict when the Pounce would occur... but I'd hit him from every angle I could think of. I even came out of the loft at him, once.
 
    The goal was to force him to the floor, but he always managed to catch or somehow deflect me. I was simply too small to physically overpower him. The point I'm making is that I always kept him guessing, so he was never completely at ease if he couldn't see me. It eventually made it into the bedroom, which is what I was shooting for anyhow... but there would have been more right-to-sleep bedding if I hadn't gone that extra mile earlier in the day.
 
    Shake things up, while scouting out a nice Plan B teenager to lure into the house to bust up a chiffarobe. Do all that, and you should be alright.
    
    - Thumper
 
Got a problem? Ask Thumper... help from her is like being smashed in the face with a bottle of Atavan. Send any questions to "Dear Thumper" c/o wb@ecape.com