A new argument for leaving the lights on

K just knew I'd have blogged this story on Tuesday, but I didn't. I thought it fell into the category of TMI, so I kept it to myself. I didn't tell a soul about it.

But now it's Friday, and my nose is STILL sore, so I'm sharing.

I've already confessed on here that I'm not a virgin. My husband and I do have sex. There. I admitted it again.

So, we've been traveling quite a bit lately. We've had some late nights getting back home, and we've been tired from the constant flying and driving and catching up with friends on our trips. We found ourselves in a bit of a dry spell. I honestly can't remember how long it had been, but I know it was at least since before the exhausting Long Island trip.

Last week, the desire was there. But two nights in a row, K missed my, "I'm going to bed," clues, so I was asleep before he got in bed. The third night, K was asleep before I went to bed (man, he can fall asleep fast!).

And the 4th night? K actually told me he was too tired. Granted, we did have to get up at 4 a.m., and it was definitely after 1 a.m., but seriously? He kicked himself the entire rest of the weekend. And you can bet I gave him hell for it too.

During our trip to OK, we spent two nights in our friends' living room and another night in my dad's room. Pretty uneventful. So when we finally got back home on Monday night, we were both very ready to put an end to the dry spell.

When we finally climbed into bed, I turned the lights out. We had had a bit of an argument earlier, so I wasn't sure what the night would lead to. Turns out sexual frustration always wins.

We were in the warm-up phase when K kissed my stomach. I sat up to lead him back to the top of the bed (seriously, when it's been that long, who needs foreplay?!) ... when he happened to already be headed that way.

In the darkness of our bedroom, the hardest part of K's head went cracking straight into my nose. I instantly slapped my hands over it, wincing in pain. I was sure blood was gushing down my chin. No doubt he had broken it. God, I was going to have black eyes. How would I explain them?

I couldn't figure out if I should laugh or cry. I wanted to do both. I managed to somehow do neither (for at least a bit). I ran to the bathroom, cupping my hands to catch the blood. When I flipped the switch and caught my reflection in the mirror, I was surprised and relieved to see that there was no blood. My nose wasn't swollen, and my eyes didn't appear to be bruising.

But my nose still hurt like hell.

It had definitely killed the mood. I climbed back into bed, expecting the dry spell to extend for at least another night.

I was wrong. Turns out sexual frustration always wins.