The Revealing Truth When I Dressed ‘Sexy’ for My Husband
I learned I’m no Sophia Loren
No matter how loving a relationship is — a couple can fall into daily routines and lose some spark.
I sensed a humdrum beat creeping into my life after a few years with my husband. The affection was there, but there was less zing.
A woman of action
Not being one to let a trend become a fixed habit, I decided to act. One evening, I greeted my husband dressed in, I’ll just call it, ‘desire-inducing’ attire.
Now, every person’s idea of what constitutes an alluring dress is different. It’s buried deep in the gray matter of our individual brains.
Luckily, my husband was open and shared what turned him on.
And his ideal did not include the Madison Avenue version of sexy: lacy lingerie, corsets and garter belts.
That was not his style, nor mine. But Hollywood did somewhat shape his ideal.
One of the sexiest photos for him was a picture of Sophia Loren emerging from the water, her dress clinging to her, showing her large breasts and full hips. It was from the film, Boy On A Dolphin. Loren’s wet shirt-dress moment became an iconic poster for the film and her career.
Life imitating art
So I bought a white T-shirt. It was made of thin, cotton material that, when wet, would cling to all the right body curves.
At that time, we were living in our first apartment. There was a great room three steps down from the entry. It held the kitchen, living room, my husband’s drafting board and plan files.
The entry landing was small. Immediately to the left were the bathroom and bedroom.
I’m sure you can sense where this is going.
When I heard his TR-7 convertible pull into the parking lot, I jumped into the shower dressed only in the T-shirt. I drenched myself from hair to foot.
Out of the shower in seconds, I was just steps from the front door where I posed trying to look — as much as possible — like Sophia Loren.
The logistics were perfect
My husband came through the door carrying a roll of architectural drawings under his arm and a briefcase.
He greeted me with a kiss on my forehead.
And then he quickly moved past me, down the steps into our great room. He stopped and looked back over his shoulder just long enough to say:
“Honey, you’re dripping all over the carpet.”
My feelings were hurt. Momentarily.
His reaction was a sure signal his architect’s mind was somewhere else designing a building or solving an engineering problem because he headed straight to his drafting board.
Then, the absurdity hit me. There I was soaking wet as if someone had turned a firehose on me, dripping on the floor and not looking at all like Sophia’s poster.
I laughed. And I realized that even if it had been Sophia herself standing at the door — he still would have made a beeline to his drafting board.
It’s not that he lacked romance. It’s not that I lacked the right curves. It’s that he did not need contrivances to stir passion and I did need to recognize when he was inspired and not interrupt.
Yet my reenactment wasn’t a total flop. Over a glass of wine that night, we talked, we laughed at my antics and later we climbed the three steps to our bedroom together.
