How can I get Uncomfortable with my Husband?

At one time or another, couples have all heard the phrase "you've gotten comfortable with one another." Let me let you in on a secret. Comfortable sucks! Comfortable means you care less about looking hot and sexy and more about feeling cool and raggedy; you don't know what make up is anymore; and worse off, you look sloppier than the hobo up the street. I am a prime example of someone who has gotten way too comfortable with "Cahm-for'ble".

Remember, when you first dated your man? Just think about it. There was that tiny little pit in your stomach every time you heard him, or saw him, or even thought of him. It made you slightly "uncomfortable", but in a good way. Every time you thought you were going to see him, what did you do? You took more time on your framework. You plucked your brows, you shaved everythang, you put on the good, sexy undies. You made an effort.

What do you do now? I know what I do. Nothing. That's right. Nothing. I may go as far as throwing on my see-through bathrobe once in a blue moon, but that's because both my raggedy terry-cloth robes are in the wash. The sad thing is the sexiest thing I could do for my husband on a Friday night is say, "Oh, baby, I know you've been working hard all day, let me treat you to some fried chicken from the Pollo Kanpero. Mmmm."

What the hell happened? When did the fireman come and extinguish this fire? I never dialed 911. I guess it must've been the first time I just strolled out the shower and didn't care to throw a towel on and he didn't take the bait. Or it could've been that time I pooted and really didn't feel bad about it. Or it just may have been the time I went through a rustication phase where nothing saw a blade (no brow, no pit, no lip). What I'm saying is some of this is my fault. I took the mystery out of being the woman in the relationship.

Now, easy, ladies, don't get your cackles up. He got some work to do too, but the point is I let myself go. That's right. I became his friend and forgot to be his lover. Seriously, he and I are just as comfortable having a fart-off rather than planning a romantic getaway for the two of us. Or my personal favorite, who's bodily morning stench can gross out the other more? I'm sad to say I've won a few of those, but he's the Champ.

Not to say this issue hasn't come up in conversation over a beer and some crispy-fried wings. I have reminded my husband on occasion that I am his wife and not his bro. And to his credit, he admits that sometimes he forgets that because he takes for granted that I am here he doesn't make the effort, which tells me that this comfortable thing is evil. He always knows where to find me on most weeknights, either on the couch, watching our son or at my mother and father's. My script never changes. It's like being on a TV show: it's the same freaking set, unless you get that sweeps week special where we go to Acapulco or something and even then the routine's the same.

I once said to my husband, with all confidence, that "I get offered dick on a regular basis. If you don't start paying me mind, you gonna lose me." Yeah, I said it, back then, when I could stroll through a clothing store and random men would be hard pressed to come into the Women's section to see me and just say, "Hi." Now, with a son, a dog and a sagging waistline, yeah, that doesn't fly so much now. But that's what I mean, I've become comfortable with all that.

Now, how do I become uncomfortable? How do I take back the mystery? How do I shut Pandora's Box now that its been gaped open for so long? I'm gonna test out a few things and see how it works out. I'll get back to you all. Until then: Pray for me, y'all.