SB gets points for being long suffering in this department, although it is partially his fault. I was much more put together when we met (and no, it had nothing to do with trying to impress him). I had taken my eclectic style to Italy the previous year and had returned with more panache. The problem was that he was a mountain man and my shoe collection was virtually rendered useless when taken to his Adirondack stomping grounds. I have attached a picture of some of my shoes illustrate their uselessness.
I did not mind dressing in a more casual style but I occasionally did put on a pair of heels to go out with the girls. I take pride in choosing beautiful shoes first and then trying to match the clothing. I liked it that my aunt once told me that when she was waiting for me to arrive at a restaurant, she knew I had entered because the women sitting opposite to her in the lounge suddenly looked over past her at my shoes. Except for the occasion when we were at a formal event, SB has not appreciated my efforts.
That is why it is his fault that I have fallen apart. After spending a great deal of effort trying to look sexy, only to have him not even notice, I have given up. It is much easier to give up because it frees up that twenty minutes it took for me to run a brush through my hair and slip into something cute for when he came home. Instead I have been able to remain in my large t-shirt and pair of his boxer shorts that feel much more comfortable.
Then quite suddenly, last night he looked up from his fixated, glazed, addicted, viewing of The Onion TV and stared at me like I was a Martian. "What?" I asked. "Have you seen yourself in a mirror," he asked. I looked over at the teeny, tiny mirrors on the wall and saw a perfectly comfortable, petite woman in some slightly large gym shorts belonging to SB. "What? Are you saying that I'm not sexy?" I demanded to know. He slowly looked me up and down and shook his head in bemusement.
I can't believe it. He finally noticed something. This is the man who still doesn't know that I stopped shaving my legs last month, who had to be shown that I had a black eye after one of my rugby matches, who can't tell the difference if I wear makeup. The problem is that it has taken him so long to register an objection that it will take a while for me to build up any effort to change. Those big shorts are so comfortable, and why should he care that I pair them with my monkey house slippers? He knew long ago that I have an affinity for monkeys. I have told him that I will wear more feminine lounge clothing if he gives me something to wear. Considering that he bought my Christmas presents in February last year, I shall be floating around the flat in my giant shorts for quite some time.
It could be worse. I could be this guy. Although my message to SB is somewhat similar :)
I did not mind dressing in a more casual style but I occasionally did put on a pair of heels to go out with the girls. I take pride in choosing beautiful shoes first and then trying to match the clothing. I liked it that my aunt once told me that when she was waiting for me to arrive at a restaurant, she knew I had entered because the women sitting opposite to her in the lounge suddenly looked over past her at my shoes. Except for the occasion when we were at a formal event, SB has not appreciated my efforts.
That is why it is his fault that I have fallen apart. After spending a great deal of effort trying to look sexy, only to have him not even notice, I have given up. It is much easier to give up because it frees up that twenty minutes it took for me to run a brush through my hair and slip into something cute for when he came home. Instead I have been able to remain in my large t-shirt and pair of his boxer shorts that feel much more comfortable.
Then quite suddenly, last night he looked up from his fixated, glazed, addicted, viewing of The Onion TV and stared at me like I was a Martian. "What?" I asked. "Have you seen yourself in a mirror," he asked. I looked over at the teeny, tiny mirrors on the wall and saw a perfectly comfortable, petite woman in some slightly large gym shorts belonging to SB. "What? Are you saying that I'm not sexy?" I demanded to know. He slowly looked me up and down and shook his head in bemusement.
I can't believe it. He finally noticed something. This is the man who still doesn't know that I stopped shaving my legs last month, who had to be shown that I had a black eye after one of my rugby matches, who can't tell the difference if I wear makeup. The problem is that it has taken him so long to register an objection that it will take a while for me to build up any effort to change. Those big shorts are so comfortable, and why should he care that I pair them with my monkey house slippers? He knew long ago that I have an affinity for monkeys. I have told him that I will wear more feminine lounge clothing if he gives me something to wear. Considering that he bought my Christmas presents in February last year, I shall be floating around the flat in my giant shorts for quite some time.
It could be worse. I could be this guy. Although my message to SB is somewhat similar :)
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