I swear I put a full stop to talking politics with my partner when we are in our ohh lala moments. Not even when I am playing the plumber or her, the nurse.
Now, some people would be livid that I am putting my nationalistic or worldly humanistic responsibilities aside and giving importance to petty pleasures; I am not retiring without any reasons.
Let me explain.
“Hey babe, I am writing a piece on why I stopped discussing politics while having sex; I am serious about my promise, you see.”
Let me explain.
Imagine. (I am sure, by now, you would have imagined my private moments with positional details and with a commentary on a political scenario)
Use your imagination and read this piece as if a stand-up comedian is reading for you. If you like the logic, use it for a better and focused sex life.
To know the logic, you need to know my day. And, this is how my screen (our days are screens anyway) looks outside my work-screen.
I check Whatsapp, and nothing interesting happens there anyway. I move to Twitter because I want to be informed. I don’t like yesterday’s stale news, gotta be fresh as a dai(l)sy. I see what is trending. I am not just informed; I am focused. My thirst for being informed takes me to other news sites, and now I am more informed. (Right, that is a lot of informedness in one paragraph).
By now, I know what is happening around my neighborhood, my state, my country, the middle east, the Indian subcontinent, the crypto financial system, my planet, and my milky coffee.
I am in my element and heavily armed to make some informed (not intelligent) comments (not decisions).
I have stopped making informed decisions about my finances, my child’s mental health, my parents’ retirement, and my career because I am busy serving the earth and its citizens.
So, where is the problem?
The biological changes that happen when I log onto Twitter. You see, the moment I am on the platform, my body transforms into a Right/Left winger, quite magically. Neutral/Spectator is never an option.
“I am sure you will keep your promise, hun. You are playing a writer tonight?.”
So, what has that got to do with your sex life?
With the confidence of information, I put out a tweet or two (while I am in a meeting) with noble intentions to save my global friends from the middle eastern religious policies, eroding freedom of expression in the Indian subcontinent and the bitcoin ponzi scam. You see, the social media algorithms and the mainstream media cannot be wrong, neither can I.
The keyword here is noble intentions. My friends cannot see that there is doomsday looming outside their front gates. I have to save them. The truth is so out there, even Santa, who visits us only once a year, would know that I am right and they are wrong.
Okay, I get it that they are from the middle east, India, and young, respectively, but does anyone care for the information I got? Clear as daylight. That’s how my day goes.
I am sorry, what is your point?
My breakups — me being dumped, to be honest.
My first girlfriend was from the middle east; she dumped me because I got into politics at the bar table we frequented.
My second girlfriend was an Indian American; we were in a live-in. She dumped me when I got my planet-saving information to the bedroom.
The one who just said I love you, she is my third and a young geeky blockchain snatcher. I gave a monologue about the crypto scam while having sex last night.
I resign from my duties because I cannot afford to save the world and its beings anymore, only to lose my close ones.
If it can reach your bar, your bedroom, your bed, it won’t be long — it will reach your intercourse, soon.
“Yeah, baby. I am writing you tonight.”