November 13, 2003

No Strip Dances For You

On Tuesday night Partner Unit, in a fit of defensiveness, joined Best Friend and I (I should point out that Best Friend is a 6"2 Englishman) for our boxing class. This, to prevent Volvo-Man and any of his "witnesses" from bumping into me. After boxing, it was decreed that we should all go into town and meet up with my friend Annika.

So after a particularly intense boxing session, we all clean up pretty and go into the centre in Stockholm for a meal. Best Friend has wife and child duties and so has to head home, so it's Partner Unit, Annika, and myself. We meet up at a little restaurant called the Metro, order some wine, and start to relax.

Half-way through the meal, Partner Unit turns to Annika and asks where her boyfriend Hans is. She mentions he is on a team-building exercise (team-building exercises over here in Europe are fabulous. They involve some castle in the middle of nowhere, weird physical exertion exercises, and then copious amounts of food and alcohol that generally culminate on people getting it on with each other in the evenings, only have to apologize with hangovers in the morning and hope to God that no one has evidence on film. Nice.)

The waitress comes up to our table and refreshes our wine glasses, smiling at us.

Partner Unit: So it's just you tonight? What are you going to do?
Annika: After this, I am going back to the flat, change into my pajama bottoms and sweatshirt, and veg on the couch.
Partner Unit (picking at lettuce garnishes on his plate and racing them around the edges) mumbles: Why can't you women just sit around the house after work and actually wear something sexy? Is it too much to ask that you not wear the pajamas?

The waitress nearly drops the wine bottle. She looks up at us, instant fear in her eyes. Annika and I slowly look at each other. Partner Unit is still slowly playing race cars with the garnish. The temperature in the air has dropped 10 degrees. It is a clear case of the hunter, in the jungle, suddenly totally unaware that the lions have picked up a discarded machine gun and are aiming for his testicles. The waitress doesn't even finish the pouring, she just runs away in horror, sobbing in fear, trying to escape the nuclear blast about to go off.

Annika (sweetly): Well, do you change clothes when you get home?
Partner Unit (still oblivious): Yes, I usually wear some sweatpants and a T-shirt.
Annika: And yet you expect us to wear a little Playboy bunny outfit when you get home?
Me: And should we have your martini ready when you get there?
Annika: And a fire going in the fireplace?
Me: And I could do a strip dance for you while I dance on the coffee table.

Partner Unit looks up, slowly, in horror. He realizes the complete and total error in judgment he has just made. His eyes become saucers, mere deer-in-the-headlights. He looks around at other tables for some male backup, but the men have their legs crossed, their hands folded protectively over their nuts, and they are looking at Partner Unit with a "You're on your own, man." expression as they hurriedly tell their girlfriends and wives that they are dead sexy in a torn T-shirt and granny panties.

Partner Unit is fucked.
Or will not be fucked, to be more precise.

Annika: So you want Helen to go home, dress up for you, and look sexy, while it's ok for you to dress in sweats?
Partner Unit: Um...I...ok, what's the right answer?
Me: So I don't look sexy in my pajamas?
Partner Unit: Um...yes, you do. Totally.
Me: But you just asked why it is I couldn't look sexy for you when you get home? Even though I have never once complained that you come home and change out of your suits and put on sweatpants?
Partner Unit opens his mouth to explain, but no sound comes out. He simply whimpers.

The truth is, I do dress sexy for work. Well, not for work (I do wear professional suits, skirts, and shirts) but underneath the work clothes. I prefer sexy lingerie. I like to feel that beneath the business clothes, I have a secret. Lacy thongs, stay up stockings. I like garter belts, the feel of a smart black lacy strap moving up and down the back of my bare thigh while I walk. Tiny demi push up bras, with fragile looking scalloped edges just preparing to spill me out. Satin camisoles and boy shorts designed to make men sweat. Underwire bras designed to fit snugly against the white fragile scars I have. I wear it all.

But when I come home, I take it off. That's the point. It gives me confidence since I know what is underneath my clothes, and no one else does. I am very aware of the lingerie I am wearing, often since it is a bit uncomfortable. And when I get home, it all comes off-I have to confess, I don't even wear underwear around the house. I rather don't see the point.

I am not saying that I don't want to look nice for partners when I am with them. I do. But what I don't want is to be expected to look nice and sexy when all I want to do is come home, cook some dinner, and relax.

Men-at least those I have been with-balk and hate when they are expected to do something. They prefer to have the freedom to come up with romantic gestures and thoughtful ideas on their own, instead of being pushed to do so. It's the same for women. Expect me to wear sexy lingerie at home as a treat? Then it won't happen, since I will feel obligated, as opposed to feeling sexy and given the opportunity to do something nice for you. Love it when I do dress like that and take it for what it is-something nice I want to do for you? You will get a repeat performance, indeed.

But it appears that Partner Unit would like to live in an environment where it is part of the plan for me to wear said clothes. To be sure to make his stay in the home as pleasurable as possible (I think this is called "The 50's") To make sure that I am a nubile and attractive female at all times.

Weird. I thought I already was that.


PS- 5 days to Judgment Day.

PPS-Not sure what is happening on Layne's site, but she has plugged me yet again, and for that, I want to buy her presents. Wonder if she will settle for a kidney or some other organ donation.

Posted by Everydaystranger at November 13, 2003 08:40 AM | TrackBack

looking for partnership

Posted by: logobank at January 19, 2004 01:11 PM

[super hearing picks up Helen's faint yell] What say? [/flies back from sunset]

Okay..... uhhhhh....

OOH! I got one!

A man walks into a bar.......




It hurt.

Get it? "It hurt." Cuz he walked into the.... nevermind. Shoulda just gone out on the high note. Dagnabbit.

away.... again....[/into sunset less enthusiastically than before]

Posted by: Mike the Marine at November 14, 2003 04:28 PM

Come back! Come back! more laughs needed on regular basis!

I am a laughter whore. Clearly.

Posted by: Helen at November 14, 2003 04:22 PM

If that be the case m'lady, then my work here is finished.....

AWAY!!! [/flies off into the sunset]

Posted by: Mike the Marine at November 14, 2003 04:18 PM

To the women who commented here, it appears we have one unanimous sentiment: Nope.

To the men who commented here: You all make me laugh.

And to Mike the Marine: You made me howl with laughter. Well done.

Posted by: Helen at November 14, 2003 09:02 AM

Will they never learn? My husband asked me a question like that once... Just once!

Posted by: Sue at November 14, 2003 08:10 AM

I'd like to "box" with you if you know what I mean. Why are you women such teases? You really want it don't you?

Posted by: Raging Dave at November 14, 2003 06:50 AM

I like Mike the Marine's idea... when in doubt, bluff your way out! Yeah, he could've had ya'll ROTFL, ready to run home to the corsets & stilettos if he'd just used the right brain. That is to say, the correct brain!

Posted by: jean at November 14, 2003 04:59 AM

hey nice site, came from Natalieville, looks like I got here just in time for a great post. too bad for Partner Unit. big hole, big big hole insert foot, fall in :0)

Posted by: shortt at November 13, 2003 08:55 PM

hey, at least you have sexy undergarments at all! your p.u. should consider himself lucky. my big ex used to beg me to just wear matching bra and panties sometimes...i'm big on comfort and cute when it comes to underwears (not so big on matching). but every once in awhile...makes it more fun when it's all surprising. :-)

current bf doesn't seem to care to much about underwear. he's more into what i'm wearing...he likes the little shorts i wear when i'm working out. and the winnie the pooh sports bra. haha...

Posted by: kat at November 13, 2003 08:39 PM

I think you look dead sexy in that there mumu, Helen!

Posted by: Rob at November 13, 2003 07:27 PM

P.U. had a definite brain-to-mouth disconnect. Or, more accurately, they were connected directly with none of the usual filters being used. Statements like this are what get lesser men killed.

In this situation, there is only one possible answer that will get the male out alive: ATTACK. Don't back down. You know you're wrong, you know you're not getting laid - but if you're gonna be a bear, be a fuckin' grizzly. Go big. Be over the top with it.

"Hell yes, I can wear sweats and the women should have to wear lacy Vicci's Secret stuff! 24-7! You're there to be my eye-candy, so do it woman!" THIS IS YOUR ONLY HOPE. Go so big that the females of the herd are convinced that you are either insane, kidding around, or hopefully, both. At that point they will ignore you, which in this case is preferable to being noticed. Remember: just because you are wrong doesn't mean that you should ever admit it. Just go down in flames gracefully, like the Hindenburg.

......oh the humanity......


Posted by: Mike the Marine at November 13, 2003 07:13 PM

Ouch. Just...ouch.

This is what happens when the brain has a temporary disconnect and the Id starts talking.

Posted by: Jim at November 13, 2003 06:49 PM

bah, you caught him in ye old catch 22. He doesn't have enough experience to weezel out of that one..

Posted by: pylorns at November 13, 2003 06:26 PM

It doesn't matter what I wear, he's still raring to go. We only see each other one long weekend a month, so I can see his point. But when you have the flu and you're hacking your lungs up and the love of your life says "I have something here that will help that tickle at the back of your throat!"-- can we all say EUWW together? Send those pajamas my way, I need them on the odd occasion!

Posted by: Oda Mae at November 13, 2003 06:19 PM

Helen, that's it, we're switching boyfriends. Both Scratcher and my previous both want(ed) me starkers. Both of 'em publicly state that nekkid is sexy. This as they peel the $40 lacy demibra and matching knickers off me. Sigh. It matters to me; doesn't seem to matter to them.

And *nobody* lounges around the house in that stuff. Underwire and couch ass-print do not go together.

Posted by: Kaetchen at November 13, 2003 05:06 PM

The sad thing is that after you give in and have dinner on the table while wearing a lace corset and then fuck their brains out... you never hear the end of it. Two weeks later all I hear is, "But honey, why don't you wear the red lacey thing again? You never wear that anymore."

Posted by: emily at November 13, 2003 04:52 PM

Wow. Partner Unit must not have very good self-preservation instincts. If it was me I'd make a point of wearing my comfiest (which usually means oldest and rattiest) pjs around the house for a while. Or, maybe he'll really see the error of his ways and to make up for it he'll start coming home from work and putting on his g-string.

Posted by: amy t. at November 13, 2003 03:25 PM

I'm with you on this, H. Sexy isn't sexy if you're sexy everyday. Sexy is...oh... unexpected, surprising, tantalising. Alluring.

I'd rather know someone is comfortable - and knowing that underneath those relaxing clothes is absolutely nothing is...well.... if that's not sensual, I don't know what is.....

Besides, there is auch a thing as sexy pyjamas. Go looking for them together. It's fun hunting ;-)

Posted by: greywulf at November 13, 2003 11:10 AM

I'm with you on this, H. Sexy isn't sexy if you're sexy everyday. Sexy is...oh... unexpected, surprising, tantalising. Alluring.

I'd rather know someone is comfortable - and knowing that underneath those relaxing clothes is absolutely nothing is...well.... if that's not sensual, I don't know what is.....

Besides, there is auch a thing as sexy pyjamas. Go looking for them together. It's fun hunting ;-)

Posted by: greywulf at November 13, 2003 11:07 AM

Shit! Now I wish I had come to the meal! (Although if I had then the conversation would probably not have taken place and so you would have had to find something else to focus on - damn Choas Theory) - and anyway PU would have known something was up because I would have been rolling on the floor laughing ;)

I can also confirm that there is absolutely nothing wrong with your choice of bed-wear.

Posted by: Best Friend at November 13, 2003 11:06 AM

*gulp* Ummm, could you describe wearing your undergarments again . . . that was fun. ;)

Posted by: James at November 13, 2003 10:08 AM

shhh. PL is no more. You have to click inside to get the goods.

I torn by sharing Partner Unit's fear and thinking of lacey undergarments. I better go to bed now.

Posted by: Guinness at November 13, 2003 09:38 AM

hi. i find your blog in weblogs and so glad to see u. ;)

Posted by: berehneh at November 13, 2003 09:24 AM
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