Today, I spent a good part of my afternoon finishing up a Pinterest-inspired fall wreath for my front door. Incidentally, I started the wreath about four months ago and incidentally, I was quite proud of my four-month-ago self for having enough foresight to buy the makings for a fall wreath in the summer, knowing full well it would take me months to complete.

Well done past self, well done.

I finished my beautiful burlap-and-lace wreath and, of course, immediately wanted to hang it up on the front door. Except, of course, I realized that my handy wreath door hanger was packed securely away in the Christmas decoration boxes…in the basement…in the root cellar…where there are lots of spiders.

I could have gone and sifted through the mountains of boxes myself, but there are lots of reasons why I didn't want to: 1) the boxes are heavy 2) I am secretly afraid of the basement, especially the root cellar and 3) I really, really hate spiders.

Suddenly, I realized that it was Sunday-and my big, strong husband was home! Yay! I could convince him, ever so sweetly, to venture down into the recesses of the spidery basement and fetch the wreath hanger, a quite literal needle in a haystack amongst the boxes for me. But how? How could I convince him to drop all of his own weekend to-dos for his spider-fearing wife?

I will admit to you that the first thing that came to my mind was, well, you know. An eye for an eye, so to speak. Perhaps I could offer a little something to make it worth his while? Something that no husband really ever passes up, given the opportunity? Something along the lines of, honey, if you find my wreath hanger, I promise not to fall asleep right away tonight?

Yes, ok? I was that desperate to get that darn wreath hanger.

But don't worry – my good wife conscience kicked in and the scenario went down just as I imagined it would. Meaning, I asked him sweetly and kindly if there was any chance that he would hunt down my wreath hanger…and he smiled and patted my head like I had lost my mind.

Which obviously, I had.

Or had I?

Tell me that you haven't had the same thought that I did – using a little bedroom incentive with your spouse? Surely, I'm not crazy, right? I mean, we've had some fun "bedroom bets" in our day, a more recent incident involving a rather risque dare on the monkey bars during a play date with our kids, but still, bedroom bartering seems to take things to a whole new level.

On one hand, I could see how it wouldn't be all that bad. It could be fun, a little teasing game to get things going, as we married couples all know that sex is a lot like exercise in that it's usually quite enjoyable once you get going and you're always glad you did it when it's over.

But on the other hand, bedroom bartering just seems downright mean. As if one partner holds the bedroom "power," so to speak, and the other one just hopes for whatever table scraps get thrown his way.

And then there's the tricky question of, where would you draw the line? Is it a once a month thing? A yearly ploy out of desperation? Would it deteriorate a couple's sex life into a constant game of who-owes-who instead of who-loves-whom?

I'm not sure I want to know where the dangerous path of bedroom bartering could lead.


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