The tub, like all tubs in apartments worth living in, was grimy. She had scrubbed it many times but the porcelain remained gray and streaked with rust around the drain. She didn’t mind. She also kissed dogs on the mouth, didn’t wash her fruit. Let the squeamish suffer their fear, let them live without really living. Margaret was safe in her risk-taking.In the kitchen, Toby baked a cake, his second: the first one had burned. Margaret had assumed he’d forgotten to turn on the timer, but this was deliberate. He’d wanted to have sex, more than he wanted to eat cake, and he knew that if the timer went off in the middle, they would stop to handle it. They were married, and passion was not greater than cake. But they didn’t end up having sex (because there were dishes to wash, because they were tired—they were always tired now that the baby was on the way), and the cake burned anyway. Toby felt silly, and a little disappointed by his carelessness.The average married couple in Los Angeles has sex once a week.
What do You think about If You're Not Yet Like Me?
