Perspective

This blog is not Diary of an Affair. My initial post and the follow-ups to what happened in it were, indeed, focused on what could have been the start of something very damaging to my marriage.

But that's not what's happening here. My husband is a wonderful man. He cares for me and he desires me, still. But last week showed me that I did not lose an appeal even though my shape is...doughier than it was before children. And my complexion is not as evenly clear as it was a decade ago. Hectic schedules and the worries associated with a family may have taken their toll on my sleep schedule and my system.

While I was away, though, I was reassured that all those "deficiencies" don't matter. That there is something about me that is attractive- I've already attracted my husband's attention, so this was a reassurance that was impossible for him to provide. And that reassurance also sparked a motivation in me.

I may have crossed into middle age. I may drive a minivan, and go to the grocery in sweats and a ponytail. But underneath it all, I've got something. And if I want to keep that "something" I will need to focus on fostering it. I've gotten back on the treadmill, because I owe it to myself to firm up and be in better shape. I walked into the office with a bit more confidence, no longer feeling like the polished and put together image was an act. Was it flattering to know that there were people paying attention to how my legs looked? hell, yes. But any of the thrill I got from the extra attention was held in reserve until I got home last night.

Who would have suspected that a hotel flirtation would be so good for my married love life?

What happens at the conference...

Single malt, on the rocks, for you. A lemon drop martini for me. And a conversation I was very surprised to have.

You said the small things were what did it for you. The way I leaned back against the desk while you were checking emails. How I tuck my hair behind my ear while I talk. The look I give you when I'm challenging what you've said, the way I say "Really?" and raise my eyebrow. The joking conversation we had before harassment training, and how you sat on the other side of the room not because you didn't enjoy being near me, but rather that you may enjoy it too much. The feisty attitude when I pretend to scold you for something.

You say that Dan and Isaac notice some of the same things. That when the door to your shared office is closed, the conversation inside is less about marketing than it is about the cut of my suit and height of my heels.

I haven't seen you since I left for my hotel room that night, and I don't know whether what you said in the small hours of morning will hold up under the fluorescent lights of the office, whether coffee would encourage you the same way Glenlivit did. But our glances and smirks have just taken on a whole new meaning.

Standing on the edge

I was never that girl- the one who caught everyone's attention. I don't get drinks sent to me by strangers in a bar. I don't inspire double takes when I pass by. I was always the safe, unthreatening girl. Everyone's buddy, and therefore no one's date. I had close relationships with boys when I was younger, close enough for them to feel very comfortable telling me all about the unattainable objects of their unrequited love or lust.

I'm not a bad looking woman, but not necessarily a good looking one either. My husband saw something in me he liked, and still likes, and I in him. And we are good, we are fine, we still love each other after over ten years of marriage in every sense of the word "love." But there comes a time when you start to wonder whether you are loved and desired because of familiarity and comfort, or whether anyone other than your other half sees anything there.

I was never that girl- the one men saw as sexy without trying to be. I was never watched appreciately as I walked across the room. I never had a man buy me a drink at the hotel bar and invite me to his room.

Until now.