Twenty-seven years ago, I fell in love. True, mad, passionate love where we drank like fish, laughed like hyenas and were at it like rabbits. I’d finally found a down-to-earth man who was as sexy and funny as he was kind. Within a year, we were living together. Within six, we were walking down the aisle. Within eight, we were parents. Within ten, we’d entered the “quiet quitting” phase … if you can call something that lasts for more than a decade a “phase.”
It’s not only women [who pull back]. My [future] ex-husband withdrew not long after he moved in and took over my living room with his Technics turntables. Why make an effort? After all, he now had what he needed—someone with whom to split the bills, cooking and cleaning. Someone to watch The Sopranos with. Someone to have sex with whenever he damn well felt like it.
