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Porn Star

I’m pretty sure my husband thought he was marrying a porn star.

I was 35 when we first met and pretty chuffed I’d met a 30 year-old fireman who was into me (and yes, I know there’s a pun there). He was – and still is – a bloke’s bloke who rowed surf boats, built stuff and was a sexy beast in general. I was working in radio, living in Sydney and had only just declared that singledom was going to be my lot in life…so happy days all round.

I’m not going to divulge how long it took us to become bone crushingly intimate, but I still was learning that his surname started with a C and not a K. Lordy me, it was ridiculously passionate, random and lasted for hours on end. The kitchen bench used to shy away from us in fear, rest stops on long drives were not in fact rest stops and a marathon on a Sunday night was not Game of Thrones, episodes 1 – 8. If he had changed his name to Dallas and called me Debbie, I wouldn’t have blamed him…I haven’t actually seen that film, but I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t have had to audition for the leads.

Fast forward ten years, three kids and 10 kilos (maybe 15, but shut up) and things are ever so slightly different. And when I say different, I mean DIFFERENT. The porn star Debbie has left the building – to the point that if we made an imaginary sequel I wonder if ‘the husband’ would want to call it ‘Dallas does Dallas because Debbie is too Knackered and the Kids Won’t Pee Off”

Don’t get me wrong, we still have very regular moments (sorry husband, I meant hours) of mind blowing, crazy good times in the bedroom, but the kitchen bench now stands proudly unscathed. We’ve tried a few times but our kids have a habit of knowing exactly when I’m offering a lovely dish and spatulas and undies go flying. Rest stops on trips are now sadly just a wee stop for the kids and marathons on a Sunday night is really Games of Thrones episodes 1 – 8.

The difference between men and women is very simple: If a husband tries to rouse his wife from sleep and there’s no fire, she’ll want to stab him in the eyeball. If a woman nudges her man with the promise of some lovin’ he’d be awake and smiling like a chubby kid on Easter morning.

I really don’t know the point of writing this… except to say that it’s ok if you’re not a major porn star after you have kids…as long as your inner Goddess makes a regular (ish) appearance, all will be fab in the world.

I’m pretty sure my husband thought he was marrying a porn star. I was 35 when we first met and pretty chuffed I’d met a 30 year-old fireman who was into me (and yes, I know there’s a pun there). He was – and still is – a bloke’s bloke who rowed surf boats, built stuff and was a sexy beast in general. I was working in radio, living in Sydney and had only just declared that singledom was going to be my lot in life…so happy days all round. I’m not going to divulge how long it took us to become bone crushingly intimate, but I still was learning that his surname started with a C and not a K. Lordy me, it was ridiculously passionate, random and lasted for hours on end. The kitchen bench used to shy away from us in fear, rest stops on long drives were not in fact rest stops and a marathon on a Sunday night was not Game of Thrones, episodes 1 – 8. If he had changed his name to Dallas and called me Debbie, I wouldn’t have blamed him…I haven’t actually seen that film, but I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t have had to audition for the leads. Fast forward ten years, three kids and 10 kilos (maybe 15, but shut up) and things are ever so slightly different. And when I say different, I mean DIFFERENT. The porn star Debbie has left the building – to the point that if we made an imaginary sequel I wonder if ‘the husband’ would want to call it ‘Dallas does Dallas because Debbie is too Knackered and the Kids Won’t Pee Off” Don’t get me wrong, we still have very regular moments (sorry husband, I meant hours) of mind blowing, crazy good times in the bedroom, but the kitchen bench now stands proudly unscathed. We’ve tried a few times but our kids have a habit of knowing exactly when I’m offering a lovely dish and spatulas and undies go flying. Rest stops on trips are now sadly just a wee stop for the kids and marathons on a Sunday night is really Games of Thrones episodes 1 - 8. The difference between men and women is very simple: If a husband tries to rouse his wife from sleep and there’s no fire, she’ll want to stab him in the eyeball. If a woman nudges her man with the promise of some lovin’ he’d be awake and smiling like a chubby kid on Easter morning. I really don’t know the point of writing this… except to say that it’s ok if you’re not a major porn star after you have kids…as long as your inner Goddess makes a regular (ish) appearance, all will be fab in the world.

9 thoughts on “Porn Star

  1. I never knew you had this hidden talent as a very very funny and talented writer Fi Fi. x

  2. Melanie Edwards Evans this cracked me up good read

  3. 👍👍👍👍👍👍 Jonathan Samuels

  4. Love your pearl necklace Fi

  5. How’s the caption!!!

  6. Oh Debbie you are hilarious!

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