Three years ago I had sex every single day, for one whole year.
To answer the most popular questions I’ve been asked since: No, it was not with 365 men. It was with one, my husband. Yes, even while I was on my period. I have no idea what my kids were doing while we were having sex. I assume not watching us. And finally, no, I didn’t do it to save my marriage. I did it to save myself, the effect it had on my marriage was merely a perk.
As the years went by, the absence of my naked body began to worry me. Did my husband, Andy, even know what I looked like naked anymore? Could he draw a nude picture of me that didn’t also have a giant duvet over my body or a Spanx seam running vertically down my stomach?
I came up with the idea to have sex for a year after speaking with a friend who’d done just that, every night of her marriage.
“It’s just something we do,” she said flatly. As routine as daylight, she and her husband had had sex every day since they’d gotten married, and they were one of the most loving, hilarious and strong couples I’d known.
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