I know what he was thinking:

This is so funny. For lack of any casual clean clothes, I decided to "dress up" for my "retirement" dinner. I've been feeling kind of punk ever since Ash Wednesday. So I resurrected all my regalia. I never had a daily punk or goth "uniform" because that requires a heavy commitment, both in money and lack of personal comfort. But for special occasions, I can go hardcore.

I must have reminded him of one of his SuicideGirls on his hard drive. My jet black hair, violet-lined eyes, spikes and other metal on my skin, the printed skirt, the fishnet stockings, the black boots — I was a complete package. He lingered for a while at my house, even though I didn't need him to watch our son anymore. I was perplexed at first, while I tried to get comfortable, getting ready to retire to bed. I took off my stockings in the half-bathroom, and went back out to the living room, and when he was still there and silently watching me go through my motions — I figured it out. (Another contributing factor must have been the pictures of me when I was blonde which he never seen before, left out near the computer, waiting to be scanned.)

I don't remember ever dressing up like this for him, during our short relationship. He never requested it. I would have obliged.

But it's too late now, honey. I would never sleep with you again.