The magic is gone

After 13 years of marriage, four pregnancies, three kids, twenty pets, two mortgages, and more bills than I care to contemplate, I've realized the magic is gone from my marriage.
Yup. Poof. Gone. Dissapated. Vanished. Hit the road. Hasta la vista, baby.
Get the idea?
Why, you ask?
Last night was my husband's first night at home in three days. The kids were asleep. I was bathed, fluffed, plucked, and primped.
You figured he'd get some sort of amorous ideas, wouldn't you?
Nope. Not him. He stayed up to watch Bride of Frankenstein.
Yes, you read right. He would rather watch a horror movie, blood and guts, screaming and mayhem, than come to bed and play doctor with me.
Now, I knew when I married The Man that Halloween was his favorite time of year. I have sat through more horror movies than I care to admit, including every Halloween known to man. I have even checked the basement afterwards to assure his that not only is Michael Meyers a fictional character but there is absolutely no way he had gotten into our basement, should hell freeze over and Michael jump off the film strip.
And I only snickered a few times.
But last night was just too much.
The Man preferred to watch a movie (which could have been recorded) rather than come be with me.
Hell, I would have screamed if that was all he wanted.
So I now have to face reality. The magic is gone, leaving me trapped in a noukieless marriage with a man who will toss me over for a psychotic killer.