Julie Burchill fights it out with another female columnist, one who dreads the launch of “female Viagra.”
Lady, I think you should consider yourself fortunate your husband still wants you.
I realize the British are an ugly race of people, but holy hell…
Amusingly, the writer who seems to need the pill less is the one more enthusiastic about its invention.
Women seem to think sex should be about sharing the washing up, talking for five hours non-stop first, lighting two-dozen scented candles, taking an hour-long aromatherapy bath, being given a 30-minute massage with oil that smells like someone’s regurgitated a whole Chocolate Orange, kissing, cuddling, stroking, more talking . . . and then That Other Thing, YOU KNOW, that’s really rude and boring. And then more cuddling.
Basically, a cross between a spa day with the girls and a petting zoo trip with the children.
Men, the swine, seem to think sex should be about sex.
It makes me laugh when I hear the excuses women make for not having sex. ‘I’m too fat!’ — rubbish! Your man’s also more than likely past his best. (Besides, I bet you’re not as fat as ME.) ‘There’s no time!’ — but you’ve probably got time to go down the garden centre, the supermarket and Ikea all on the same Sunday.
It’s not about being a Surrendered Wife or any of that jazz — it’s about living up to a contract you made when you got married.