My wife dresses sexy to work but not for me

Married men really go through it. Cold meals. Cold feet at night. Mandatory celibacy. Being called by their first name. The silent terror of living under a dictator. On top of everything else, though, nothing trumps the microaggression of having to deal with the raw versions of their women. You see, the version of herself a woman projects to the world looks nothing like the one she settles into at home.

As any man who has been in a long-term relationship will tell you, there is such a thing as ‘putting one’s face on’, a highly-detailed and ritualistic three-hour regimen that women get up to in the morning. There is also the reverse of this process, a much quicker, much less delicate process. You see it when they arrive back in the house after a long day of doing life. Seconds after crossing the threshold, a woman will slither out of her outside skin like an ageing snake.

The wig is usually the first to go; she snatches it from her head like she is angry at it and catapults it into a corner of the room with a heavy click of her tongue. Then comes the bra. She reaches into an opening of her dress—the sleeve, the space below the navel, or sometimes she reaches behind her back like she’s about to pull out a sword and chop off her husband’s head—and she yanks the thing free, wriggling and twisting.

All this is done while she is still in stride. By the time she gets to the bedroom, she is naked except for her spanx, but she frees her belly from its elastic prison with speed and urgency. She then applies a wet towel to her face, effectively restoring it to its default state. Finally, she grabs a dera, lets out a long sigh and goes out to greet the husband she strode past in the living room.

That is the woman he is accustomed to seeing. Not the dolled-up, perfect specimen who walks out every morning. If he is lucky, he will catch a brief glimpse of her in the morning, but only if she forgot something and has to hurry back into the house. Otherwise, that face is not for him. The dress is not for him, nor are the heels, the scent or the vision of her in a push-up bra. Is this not what the corrupt politicians have been promising us they will eradicate?

That you married a woman, or picked her to be your roommate, or blessed her with the gift of your progeny, and then as soon as she deems herself to be past the quarterfinals stage, she stops trying to impress you. Fools will tell you that it is a good thing when a woman feels comfortable enough to walk around in her torn, 15-year-old ODM t-shirt in your presence. Ati you should be honoured that she is unfurling her type C African hair matutas in front of you. It means you’ve crossed over into real love.

But I contend that it is crucial to maintain the illusion. We like to pretend that we were originally drawn to personality, but we all know a nice bottom helps. We will lie through our teeth that we saw something in her and that’s why we married her, but that something was actually two things, and on the day we met, they were poking through her blouse in a most arresting fashion.

So why would you want to withdraw the things that drew the man to you in the first place? Why, upon getting a modicum of security in your relationship, do you want to turn into the beast, knowing full well he married beauty? More crucially, why are you saving the best of yourself for strangers? If you want to go all-natural, do it at home and at work. If your husband gets to enjoy your pimples, don’t deny your colleagues the honour. And if you would never be caught dead in that rotten Sengenge ni Ngombe T-shirt outside the house, why should your man have to put up with it? [email protected]