The Olympics inspire hope, increase patriotism, showcase incredible talent, and remind me of how absolutely un-Olympian I am.
Perhaps it's the fact that I'm breathless after carrying loads of laundry up a flight of stairs. Maybe it's the fact that when I chase my children, they never get caught. Or maybe it's the realization that my definition of "swimming" includes a raft and a cocktail. The sad fact is, the Olympics puts my athletic ineptness into sharper focus.
As if that's not sad enough for me, now the Olympics is calling my libido into question, too. Why does it always come back to sex?
Read this and you'll understand what I mean: Will You Still Medal in the Morning?
Ok, I cannot lie. I am a little surprised.
I'm not surprised that gorgeous, young, physically fit athletes are having sex in the Olympic Village. Nah, that's not surprising. Have you seen these olympians? Sex between consenting, athletic, beautiful people happens all the timein my imagination, in the Olympic Village, and in works of fiction.
This is what surprises me: "At the 2000 Sydney Games, 70,000 condoms wasn't enough, prompting a second order of 20,000 and a new standing order of 100,000 condoms per Olympics."
Only 100,000 condoms?
Yeah, that's right. Olympic Village needs more condoms.
Do the math.
There are more than 10,000 athletes at the London Olympics.
The Olympics last 16 days.
That's 10 condoms per athlete with less less than 1 condom per day per athlete.
Maybe I've been watching men's swimming and diving events too long, but I think they better order more condoms. Any sexually frustrated housewife can tell you, the men's swim teams need their own supply of condoms. Just one look at those wet, buff bodies and you will agree I need to stop watching every men's swim event. I wish I could say I'm just showing my patriotism, but I didn't see a single skeet competition. Not one.
Seriously, have you seen them swim? Strong, hardbodies swimmers. Seriously, I need to watch other events. Somehow I don't think it should be men's gymnastics or men's track.
Ironically enough, I'm writing this while my husband watches woman's volleyball.
Sigh.
I am no Olympian. A statement that shocks no one, I know.
Perhaps it's the fact that I'm breathless after carrying loads of laundry up a flight of stairs. Maybe it's the fact that when I chase my children, they never get caught. Or maybe it's the realization that my definition of "swimming" includes a raft and a cocktail. The sad fact is, the Olympics puts my athletic ineptness into sharper focus.
As if that's not sad enough for me, now the Olympics is calling my libido into question, too. Why does it always come back to sex?
Read this and you'll understand what I mean: Will You Still Medal in the Morning?
Ok, I cannot lie. I am a little surprised.
I'm not surprised that gorgeous, young, physically fit athletes are having sex in the Olympic Village. Nah, that's not surprising. Have you seen these olympians? Sex between consenting, athletic, beautiful people happens all the time
This is what surprises me: "At the 2000 Sydney Games, 70,000 condoms wasn't enough, prompting a second order of 20,000 and a new standing order of 100,000 condoms per Olympics."
Only 100,000 condoms?
Yeah, that's right. Olympic Village needs more condoms.
Do the math.
There are more than 10,000 athletes at the London Olympics.
The Olympics last 16 days.
That's 10 condoms per athlete with less less than 1 condom per day per athlete.
Maybe I've been watching men's swimming and diving events too long, but I think they better order more condoms. Any sexually frustrated housewife can tell you, the men's swim teams need their own supply of condoms. Just one look at those wet, buff bodies and you will agree I need to stop watching every men's swim event. I wish I could say I'm just showing my patriotism, but I didn't see a single skeet competition. Not one.
Seriously, have you seen them swim? Strong, hard
Ironically enough, I'm writing this while my husband watches woman's volleyball.
Sigh.
I am no Olympian. A statement that shocks no one, I know.
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