Putting up with putting out: Turmoil in the market

I absolutely hate putting out.


I said it.

I really don’t know if that’s normal or a common phenomenon, but what I do know is that it’s not a new phenomenon and that I can’t even blame motherhood for my ‘condition’.

No, my fear of having to put out probably has everything to do with the way my mother raised me and also that I was probably the last 23-year-old virgin left on the planet when I got married.  The potent combination of a well-delayed wait and a coping mechanism of not having to need or want to “go there” only made my fear of putting out that much worse.

My ‘birds and bees’ tuition commenced even before my baby ballerina days.  Probably even before I could eat solids or sit up straight on my own!  My mother had a fabulous knack for put the fear of G.d into my baby sister and I about all things to do with boys. She conjured up some gruesome images for us that today would even make the thought of Brad Pitt, George Clooney, or Robert Pattinson completely unpalatable.  But the clincher always lay in the mystery that my mother imparted on us – that ‘boys have got , weird and mysterious ways of touching a girl in ‘certain places’ that after a certain moment ‘the girl will find it impossible to say “No”.

Ewww. I still cringe inwardly when I reflect on those lectures. I have never been a particularly sexually promiscuous person.  To be sure, I would almost always choose a night on the town with friends drinking and dancing or, on the other end of the spectrum, a hot bubble bath.  After that I’d much rather jump into bed with a hot Elizabethan fiction novel than a hot guy!

For me, putting out is my currency. So as much as I hate to admit it, it makes my world go round. For me, putting out is as luractive and cut-throat as the financial services world when the stock market is in turmoil. Every time I put out, it’s almost inevitably a foreign exchange transaction.
“OK, OK, if you really, go without having ‘it’ tonight, then do it. But you should know that I have the worst headache in the world that not even 2 Nurofen Plus tablets could kill. Also, if I agree to enter into this transaction, the trade-off is that you will dress the kids tomorrow morning while I sleep till 7.30am, and you have to give them their breakfast while I shower!”

So, I quickly ‘settle the trade’ in the market (which is already in turmoil, buy a few put options and a few call options, then roll over, comatose and fall asleep for a few short hours, morning birds already chirping outside. And – if need be, I’ll do it again tomorrow night, but only if I am absolutely strapped.

Don’t get me wrong, it does aid a tense relationship at times, and I totally get that men need it more than we do to survive. But I’ll be damned if I’m using the money I earned during these overnight heavily contested negotiations on sexy lingerie. What’s in it for me then? Hell no, I’m going to buy me some new Clinique base (instead of the cheap substitute crap I’ve been using lately from the supermarket), or a new pair of shoes or get my hair done!

As far as I can tell, I’ll be putting up with putting out for a while yet. But – if there’s still a tiny chance that there’s something (material) in it for me then I can close my eyes and think of makeup/shoes/hair colour for a few minutes each night – I owe it to myself!


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