Wedding night sex is hard work.
It’s probably the most unsexy, least exciting sex that a person can have. You’re tired, maybe drunk, maybe very drunk and that dress you’re wearing takes a mighty long time to extract yourself from.
The sex comes after a long day; a long day, which has been in the works for what might have been a long year. Or maybe even two long years.
You’ve been awake since 6am. You had your first champagne before 8am. You’ve been through hair, make up and posed for 2963 photos. You suddenly feel for those girls on America’s Next Top Model because you now understand the pain of chaffed mouth corners which result from too much smiling.
You’ve danced the nut-bush, the Macarena and the stupid YMCA. You’ve had awkward conversations with more long lost relatives than you can count and certainly more than whose names you were able to remember. You’ve sat down for a total of three minutes and 7 seconds AND you’ve had to enlist the help of a bridesmaid to go to the toilet more than once.
The emotional – and financial – roller coaster has pulled into stop. Finally. And now? Just when you want to pass out with hotel room service and a repeat of Gossip girl, you’re expected to get your booty bonking.