She spreads papers across my dining table like she's presenting a business proposal. Actual printed charts with graphs and bullet points and footnotes.
"IUD pros: long-term protection, low maintenance, highly effective. Cons: insertion discomfort, possible side effects like cramping." She points to different sections of her chart. "Birth control pills: more control over my cycle, but requires daily commitment and remembering. The implant is interesting—goes in your arm, lasts three years, very effective—"
"Liana, we don't need to discuss this right now over dinner."
"We don't? But we're getting married in less than a month. We should decide before the wedding night so we're prepared." She pulls out another sheet with even more detail. "Unless you prefer condoms? I made a comparison of brands with ratings. Durex versus Trojan versus Skyn versus—"
"Fuck." I stand up abruptly, walking to the window to escape. "Can we not do this over dinner?"
"Oh! Sorry, is this bad timing?" She checks her watch with concern. "Should I have scheduled this discussion? I can put it on the calendar for next week—"
"The calendar is the problem!"
"The calendar is the solution," she corrects me earnestly. "Without structure, how will we maintain a healthy intimate life? Communication and planning are key."
I turn to face her, trying to understand. "Most couples don't schedule sex like business meetings with cancellation policies."
"Well, maybe they should. Think about it—no miscommunication, no disappointment from mismatched expectations, no arguments about frequency. Everything is clearand organized." She taps the laptop screen enthusiastically. "I even color-coded by activity type to make it easier."
"Activity type?" I'm genuinely afraid to ask.
"Basic intimacy is blue. More adventurous activities are purple. And special occasions are gold." She smiles proudly. "Our anniversary, your birthday, Valentine's Day, that kind of thing."
"Special occasions get their own color-coding system."
"Of course! They require more planning and preparation."
This can't be real. She can't possibly be serious about any of this.
But she looks completely sincere. Earnest, even, like she's genuinely trying to help.
"And speaking of planning," she continues, pulling out actual glossy travel brochures from her bag, "I've been researching honeymoon destinations."
"Liana—"
"I know we haven't discussed it yet, but I want you to know I'm completely open to your interests." She spreads the brochures on the table next to the birth control charts. "I found some really interesting options that might appeal to you."
I look down at the brochures with growing horror.
Hedonism II, Jamaica.
Desire Resort, Riviera Maya.
Hidden Beach Resort, Mexico.
All of them feature couples in various states of undress on the covers, strategically positioned.
"These are swingers resorts," I say slowly, carefully.
"And nudist resorts! See, this one is clothing-optional." She points enthusiastically at Hidden Beach. "I thought maybeyou might have interests I don't know about yet. As your wife, I want to be supportive of your needs."
"You think I want to go to a swingers resort for our honeymoon?"
"I don't know what you want! That's exactly why I'm asking." She pulls out another brochure. "Or if you're not into that lifestyle, there's also this place that specializes in couples' workshops. Tantric yoga, sensual massage classes, communication exercises—"
"Stop." I hold up my hand. "Just stop talking."
"Stop what? I'm trying to be open-minded about your potential interests—"
