<http://schema.org/articleBody>
"I&amp;#039;ve always loved seeing my husband come home from work: Crisp shirt, tie, pressed pants, shiny leather shoes. When the kids would run and greet him at the door - their hands full of Play Dough - it was like a scene from a 1950&amp;#039;s movie. &amp;quot;Papa! Papa!&amp;quot; they&amp;#039;d shriek with abandon, leaving a trail of sippy cup milk from the kitchen to the living room. What choice did Rex have but to drop his briefcase on the living room floor and embrace them into a 6&amp;#039;3 bear sqeeze, replete with &amp;quot;twirlies,&amp;quot; &amp;quot;head bonks&amp;quot; and the inevitable &amp;quot;toe hangings&amp;quot;. My admiration of my &amp;quot;Working hottie&amp;quot; was always short lived. Within ten minutes Rex would morph into a Sears Roebuck pajama ad. On good days he&amp;#039;d wear his matching blue plaid. On off days he&amp;#039;d don his ghost draw string bottoms and Cartman tee shirt. But always, and without fail, he&amp;#039;d trade in those shiny Sugar daddy loafers I loved so much for holey, grass stained, faux deer-lined slippers. (Every Christmas his parents get him a new pair, but &amp;quot;clean&amp;quot; house slippers only nudge things half a point up the &amp;quot;sexy barometer&amp;quot;. ) I&amp;#039;m not saying I didn&amp;#039;t adore Rex in his five o&amp;#039;clock shadow, stretched out on our old couch watching Modern Marvels while I cooked up yet another Taco Tuesday. The guy worked his butt off for us all day. He loves us, and us him. How could I not admire, respect and worship him for his dedication to this family? But a Ward Cleaver look-alike certainly didn&amp;#039;t make me want to strip off my Target track suit and have a quickie in the bathroom (which desperately needed cleaning) while the kids constructed their Lego empire next door. It&amp;#039;s been quite a different story lately, however. You see, I&amp;#039;m now working every day. My clothes are pressed... my hair is done... (I mean, seriously, brushed... I know... it&amp;#039;s shocking.) I&amp;#039;ve got some residual perfume from the 8am neck spray. I&amp;#039;m feeling alive. I&amp;#039;m feeling sassy. I&amp;#039;m feeling ready for contact other than a computer, a stack of emails and slew of corporate execs. And, perhaps even most libido lifting, I&amp;#039;m wearing uncomfortable shoes and a tight bra that are just screaming to be set free. &amp;quot;Hi kids! Hi Rex!&amp;quot; I say as I come in the door. I can see Rex admiring me. I know he&amp;#039;s loving the new look I&amp;#039;ve been rocking. But, like him, I can&amp;#039;t wear those work clothes for long. Soon I&amp;#039;m in the bedroom, flinging off my over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder and flipping my shoes into the closet. Unlike the power of Rex working before where only I was feeling schleppy all day, now we have the power of two: He&amp;#039;s been stuck in a work suit. I&amp;#039;ve been stuck in a work outfit. Him feeling randy + Me standing there naked minus the kids downstairs doing homework = only 1 possilble solution. (I just close my eyes when I see him fling those slippers onto the floor. No matter how I try, they just do NOTHING for me.) "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/life/relationships/a3113/work-clothes-sex-it-suits-m/>