The Weekly Forecast

The committed relationship is a numbers game. In one column, there are the benchmark figures that define the exercise. I’m talking birthdays, anniversaries, holidays and the like. At least some commemoration of these is mostly non-negotiable. While it certainly varies from couple to couple, I’ll bet you that, if you are in a committed relationship and hope to stay there, chances are you’re making a big deal out of one or more of these hallowed landmarks hastening unto death. Any amateur can handle these sort of tallies, but the real numbers go even deeper.

For example, the factors noting how long you’ve been together and the number of children you have share an exponential relationship on the mandatory celebrations scale. These products can get subtly arcane, looping and crossing themselves like a wedding anniversary on Groundhog’s Day. I am myself just freshly emerged from a time where I tell you it was not enough for me to remember that it was Christmas. I had to remember exactly which freaking “Baby’s Christmas” it was. As in, “Baby’s First” and so on.

I’m being totally serious. “Baby’s First (Everything)” is no small pressure in some instances, particularly when you have an only child. But I was in there, still making solid calculations until, at least, Baby’s Third Christmas. 2005 is when I recall looking for a tree ornament, or any remembrance really, of that third Nativity witnessed by my child. Like it somehow made them different from the others.

Okay, it did. It did. I’m not arguing that. It was different, alright. In addition to the ultimate sweetness and love she brought to our family for which I will be forever grateful, her coming also meant no more Winter Break vacations or frivolously fun gifts for me. Now, all moneys were due on demand to what had suddenly become Baby, Incorporated, especially around the holidays. 2005, I was starting to feel it and I didn’t get my “Baby’s Third” ornament or whatever that year. If they make it (and it wasn’t at the one store I went to and found everything else I needed), well, I must have missed it. To no small consternation when I got home, I might add.

The numbers are tight sometimes. Luckily, my kid is finally old enough where I don’t have to count it that way any more. I’ve moved past that particular formula, deeper into the textbook. But, there’s one set of critical percentages I doubt I’ll stop counting for a while: the “raw numbers,” if you will. Hang on, this one isn’t directly about sex, per se. It’s about the opposite, in fact. Okay, yes, it is based on the frequency of sex, but I’m actually talking about the day after.

If you’re in the midst of a long term relationship, the day after sex is different in the ledger, for many reasons. Of course, some of you may say, “We might have sex any day! Sometimes, four, even five days in a row!” First of all, why do I picture you speaking with a French accent when you say that? Second, congratulations. Third, shut up, I’m not talking to you. I will grant you that early in the committed relationship (and somehow constantly amongst the aforementioned lucky jerks) you had better be ready any day!

Keep it groomed and tight because you may have moved on from the super-hot early days where you were primed, second to second, but you’re still on call. As if, at any minute, you both might realize you’re together, no one else is around, and - miracle of miracles - there is finally a second person in this room who wants to see me naked. It’s a state of cat-like readiness when it comes to sex. Later, you may slow down.

You move from every night to a couple of times a week. But I’m not talking to you, really, either. I’m talking about the stage where, be honest, you’re once a week. If you’re younger, richer, better looking, or all of the above than I am, you might not realize this zone even exists. Once again, shut up.

There are times when you’re dealing with kids, careers, and schedules with more contacts than you have with your partner that these things happen. Or don’t happen. Whatever. (Also, shhh, you get older and it’s a factor, but so far, I’m not ready to face that yet. So, try and forget it, for now. I certainly am.) Regardless of however you got there, and however temporary, there are those once a week times. There are also once a week if you’re god-damn lucky times, but let us not speak of those. I’m talking everything’s still okay, and you’re cruising along, so why rock the boat?

Being overly demanding is never good and you realize that there are other things rightfully competing for your collective attention. Life, and all that. So, it’s once a week, which inevitably brings on that regularly scheduled Day After. Now, don’t get me wrong. It’s not necessarily a bad thing.

You’re still nice and lovey-dovey, but if you had to predict a day in this next seven to which you might apply your once a week schedule, the day after probably isn’t the one you’re picking on the forecast. There are exceptions. Sometimes, there’s a tropical storm blowing in with hot temperatures and high-pressure systems and you better bring your umbrella a few days in a row. Yet, you can usually count on the day after being mostly cloudy with a chance of showers, cold ones.

The percentages, the numbers game, they just say no. And so does she. Still, knowing the figures there is kind of freeing in a way. It’s like an open day to do all the annoying things you normally do that keep your partner from wanting to have sex with you in the first place.

You can do the dumb little things you purposefully don’t do when you’re in the mood to charm the old man or make a move on the old lady. (Ugh, sorry.) More importantly, there are the little extras that you will do in addition, just to try and up your odds. It’s different for everybody: extra glances, increased touches, notes, any number of little things you do in the committed relationship to indicate that your premises are open for business. You’re cashing in coupons, offering two-for-one specials, anything to get the customer in the door. And business is good. However, past a certain point in the relationship, it naturally changes.

Stay together long enough and after you have, shall we say, completed a mutually satisfactory transaction, your customer base - judging purely by the laws of supply and demand - will have dwindled, at least statistically, the next day. That’s the afternoon you get to close up shop a little early and go play golf, metaphorically speaking.

Or, better yet, speaking literally. If a day after falls on a weekend, I might actually hit the golf course for real. Because, yes, while golf and any of the fifty other things I do that she hates will more than likely lessen my chances of getting some that night, they weren’t all that great to begin with. It’s like a mini vacation from myself! Look, I even have the time to write stupid little stories about it.