Why no B-Day Sex is OK by me by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Another tribute to Omari, who hasn't posted in a while...

Birthday sex. My white whale. Call me Ahab, not Ishmael.. I have been in several long term relationships, dated short term, dated casually, and have never had birthday sex. I've heard tell of it happening, but it hasn't happened for me. I've given birthday sex, but never received birthday sex. Apparently I've stumbled into some sort of "it's that time of the month" conspiracy whereby the female population of wherever I happen to be at any given moment is synchronizing their biological clocks. I've largely accepted this as fact and am more or less resigned to a life without birthday sex. Generally speaking, I wouldn't turn birthday sex down, although I would probably be suspicious somebody was playing a practical joke on me. And not even a good practical joke, like cup-a-souping someone by shoving a fart in their face or placing dog poop in their coffee.

Regarding practical jokes, the American humorist H. Allen Smith wrote a 320-page book in 1953 called The Compleat Practical Joker that contains many examples of practical jokes. A typical one concerns the American painter and bohemian character Waldo Peirce. Peirce was living in Paris in the 1920s and made a gift of a very small turtle to the woman who was the concierge of his building. The woman doted on the turtle and lavished it with care and affection. A few days later Peirce substituted a somewhat larger turtle for the original one. This continued for some time, with larger and larger turtles being surreptitiously introduced into the woman's apartment. The concierge was beside herself with happiness and displayed her miraculous turtle to the entire neighborhood. Peirce then began to sneak in and replace the turtle with smaller and smaller ones, to her bewildered distress. This was the storyline behind Esio Trot, by Roald Dahl, though I don’t recall if Mrs. Silver gave Mr. Hoppy birthday sex. They get married in the end, so I guess probably not.

This year I am grateful that there will be no birthday sex for me. The air conditioning in my building has given out so no central air. I had been running the air in my apartment with the windows closed out of respect for our scant natural resources. It is at least 100 degrees in the bedroom. And though I had one of those giant bottles of Gatorade Rain (green flavored), I'm pretty sure that I would not be a good birthday sex host. Perhaps it is because of the combination of heat and humidity and lack of air conditioning. Or, although because, ultimately, we all came from water and we all are water, it's not always pleasant sharing your water with a total stranger. Does anyone care? I'll gladly accept rain-checks.