I'm not really sure how it happened, but it did. I'm sexy and it's my wife's fault.

I'd never exactly been a bad looking guy, or for that matter, a good looking guy. I was just kind of there. Another forgettable face in the crowd.

Perhaps a bit of history would help...

I'd always worn my hair long, and rather embarrassingly, in a mullet. Think Lars Ulrich circa 1988-1989, and you've got the picture. It was definitely a low maintenance haircut. I wore it long because when I had it short, I looked like I was twelve. Work never complained, and I didn't care.

Traditionally, I would wear a white or (if I was feeling sassy) pinstripe shirt and a bland tie to work. Whitey-tighties were the underwear of choice. I had a few pairs of light colored Dockers to wear. I would always wear white socks because nylon dress socks would make my feet sweat. Hard black leather shoes were the norm. Typical dress up geek dress code.

Then, slowly, the wardrobe changes started creeping in...

My wife found some soft black leather dress tennis shoes for me to wear. "Wear these," she said, "and your feet will be more comfortable." She was right.

My wife found some black cotton ankle high socks for me to wear. "Wear these," she said, "and your feet will stop sweating." She was right.

My wife found dark Dockers for me to wear. "Wear these," she said, "and you won't look so goofy." She was right.

My wife found some colorful bikini underwear for me to wear. "Wear these," she said, "and I shall help you take them off when you get home." She was right.

My wife found some cartoon character ties for me to wear. "Wear these," she said, "and your day will be brighter." She was right.

My wife found some dark colored dress shirts for me to wear. "Wear these," she said, "and your coworkers will compliment you." She was right.

Then, slowly, the hair changes started creeping in...

My wife found some short haircuts for me. "Cut your hair," she said, "and you will look great." She was wrong.

Ooops. I really did look like a nicely dressed twelve year old.

My wife knew what to do. "Grow your hair long again," she said, "and we will perm it."

A perm? I'm a guy. I was determined to have long hair again, so I went along with the plan.

When my hair had grown to sufficient length, a trip to the stylist was in order.

My wife took me to see Denise, my future hair stylist. "Let Denise perm your hair," she said, "and you will look great." And she was almost right.

I had never had anything but a comb and go hairstyle. I was not quite sure how much mousse to use, or even how to properly apply it. My hairstyle limped along looking somewhat goofy and over moussed. It was not a good experience.

After about two months, most of the curl had left my hair, and I had resorted to combing it back and tucking it behind my ears. I was back to the carefree comb and go and I was happy.

My wife had a plan. "Perm your hair again," she said, "and you will be sexy." I wouldn't do it.

My wife got her hair permed. She looked even more sexy than usual.

My wife was persistent. "Perm your hair again," she said, "and you will be sexy." She was hopeful, and I was nervous.

We went to see Denise again.

Denise was persistent. After she permed my hair, she showed me how to style it. "Take the time to do your hair," she said, "and you will be sexy." She was right.

Now I've got my long permed hair. Think Gary Oldman as the young good looking Dracula in London or Gary Sinise with long hair and you've got the picture. Toss in a good wardrobe, and I'm looking pretty good.

When I buy my coffee in the morning, the twentysomething clerk always gives me a bigger smile than the other customers get. Women look me over head to toe when they see me. Women hit on me. Men hit on me. My daughter's friends tell me I look great. My wife's friends tell me I look great. Longtime female friends assure me that I'm sexy. The girls at the school where my wife volunteers tell me I look sexy.

There you have it. It was a cold and calculated plan by my wife to make me sexy. She did it, and it worked.

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