In the beginning, every serious romantic entanglement is an electric, superconducting, steamy, fleshy hump festival. New sex partner = new sex, and new sex = lots of sex. That's sex math. You're in the kitchen making pasta sauce—bam!—you're having sex on the floor.
You're parking the car in the garage—bam—you're having sex in the car. But
inevitably, invariably, it wears off. Soon all your conversations, once so
filled with erotic promise, are about bills and barfy kids and how that swollen
knee makes your leg look like Jackie Gleason's.
