Last night, Kelly and I did the let’s go to bed dance.

We’ve both been a mess this week: congestion, hot/cold swings, restless legs, perimenopausal everything. Sleep has been elusive, so we decided to try turning in together, like civilized adults.

I tucked in, closed my eyes. Kelly scrolled on her phone for a few minutes. I was drifting toward sleep when—flash.

Lights off, but the glow of her phone lit up the dark.

And there it was: skin. Dark, lacy clothing.

My heart started racing. Oh no. She’s looking at porn.

I closed my eyes, willing myself to ignore it. I couldn’t. My brain was on fire: Is she losing interest in me? Am I not enough? What does this mean?

Finally, I took a breath. Don’t step over this, Molly. Be honest.

“Love, can you turn on the light?” I asked.

Kelly looked confused, but not guilty. She flipped it on.

“What were you looking at on your phone?” I asked.

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I saw women… in sexy black things. Were you looking at girls?”

Now she looked truly confused. She handed me her phone.

I squinted, put on my glasses. And then I saw it.

Not porn. Not lingerie.

A pelvic floor massager.

Yes. Those dark, lacy-looking images? They were illustrations of women demonstrating stretches and devices to loosen a tight pelvic floor.

And here’s the thing: a tight pelvic floor isn’t sexy. It’s painful. It can cause incontinence, constipation, urinary urgency, painful sex, back and hip pain, even restless legs at night.

For years, we’ve been told to “do your Kegels.” But for many of us, especially in perimenopause and beyond, the problem isn’t weakness—it’s tension. Think of it like holding a fist clenched all the time. Eventually, that muscle needs release, not more tightening.

Ways to help?

• Breathing exercises: slow belly breaths to relax the pelvic floor.

• Stretching: gentle hip openers, squats, child’s pose.

• Pelvic floor PT: yes, it’s a real specialty—and life-changing.

• Devices/tools: like the one Kelly was researching. Not porn. Not foreplay. Purely functional.

Kelly started reading aloud the list of symptoms this gadget promised to help: incontinence, constipation, urgency… and we both lost it.

“Were you jealous of me looking at a pelvic floor massager?” she asked through laughter.

“Yes. Yes, I was,” I admitted, laughing until my stomach hurt.

And here’s the win: this could’ve gone sideways. I could’ve stewed in silence, spun a story, withdrawn. Instead, I asked the question. I spoke the fear.

And what could’ve been a fight turned into one of the best laughs we’ve had in weeks.

This is marriage at 50: jealous of medical devices, laughing until we cry, and loving each other through the messy, aging, human parts.

God, I love this woman.

So if you ever catch your partner late-night Googling pelvic floor massagers, don’t panic. It’s not porn. It’s just aging. And honestly, it’s kind of hilarious.