Whenever I open a jar of Nutella, and grab a giant spoonful of it's succulent goodness, I always ask, "Why is it, dearest beloved Nutella, that The Sex cannot be as good as you?" It's true. I always ask that. And now you all can feel bad for Spouse because he holds a close second to Nutella. But only to Nutella, so that should count for something, right?
There are several things that the Big Dirty and Nutella have in common. Both seem forbidden to one degree or another, both have an airy sense of taboo, both cannot be enjoyed openly and in public without social ramifications, both produce pleasure, and last but not least, both involve nuts.
There is one element in particular, however, that separates Nutella from The Sex. This fundamental ingredient, not necessary for Nutella, but imperative for sexual enjoyment, is.... drum roll please... Concentration. The Sex requires Concentration; Nutella does not.
I might be alone in this arena of The Sex needing the Concentration. Heaven knows that this particular instance would not be the first in which I was a few ticks shy of the general populace. But I'm here to suggest - admit, even - that when it comes to relations, friction alone is not enough. Some of us must Concentrate to experience the Joy.
The Joy of Nuttella requires no Concentration. It doesn't even require a spoon!
For giggles, let's pretend that I'm right about this Concentration Theory - that most women have the same issue. You can now see - dearest gentlemen attached to women via matrimony - why it is that your woman wants it "lights-out" the minute her precious head hits the pillow. That bed is soft. That bed is warm. That bed screams, "Just lay here with me and be dumb! Lay here with me and think about nothing! Lay here with me and be blank like unto the blankets!"
The woman has impregnated the day with Concentration. The woman has used up her Concentrating powers by telling the children the same instructions twelve times over; by running errands, by attending to the needs of others and by mustering patience. When it's 10:30 in the pm, and the woman is finally able to relax, the last thing the woman wants to do is Concentrate. But the man insists. And turns on the Barry White.
And so it is, dear Gents, that I issue a challenge. I challenge you all to experience copulation through Concentration. The next time you "mount that saddle" and "go to town," derive in memory, the Quadratic Equation. Then you might come to know the difficulties of carnal concentration.
Either that or hand your love a jar of Nutella. She won't even know you're there.