Because Penthouse letters, this ain't.
Things heard around my bedroom in the last few days (I'll leave the context for your imagination):
-"Dude, it's been 6 minutes. I thought you said this would be fast."
-"My cross is choking me." "Damn. That's a sign that the Baby Jesus doesn't want us to do this." Pause. "It could also be a sign that if we proceed, we'll get knocked up with the Anti-Christ." "Shut up. That is not even possible." "How do you know?" Pause. "Oh well, at least we'd be rich."
-"Let's just get this over with." Pause. *singing* "It's not so bad, you're only the best I've ever had."
- *mumbled voices outside, heard mid-erm, activities, we freeze* "You can't see anything from outside can you?" "No, of course not. I don't think. It's ok, it's only John and he's gay anyway."
-"Well, if romance is gone, at least our sense of humor is intact."
-"Oh shit!" THUD. *uncontrollable giggling* "Baby, are you ok? Did you seriously just fall off the bed?" "Shut it."
- *slip into slinky, sexy blue lingerie he's never seen before* "What is that?" "What? I'm trying to be sexy. God. There truly is no romance left, is there?" "Whatever, it's pretty. You look nice." Five minutes later. "Ok, fine, you're right, this is ridiculous. I'm taking it off now. Happy?" *throw ridiculously uncomfortable lingerie at DH* "What the hell? I'm not wearing it!"
At least it's been entertaining!