I’ve been working as a reporter the past few days, covering a conference down at the Rosen hotel. Given the “business” dress code, I’ve been wearing suits each day. This morning, my kids finally noticed.

“Hey Daddy,” my seven-year old asked. “Why are you dressed fancy?”

“‘Cause I’m working a conference.”

“So?”

“So, I’m supposed to wear a suit.” I said.

“Oh,”

“And,” I continued. “I like to look good.” I struck my best GQ pose and flashed my most glamorous smile. “Don’t I look goo-ood?”

“No,” he said flatly, then burst out laughing. His younger brother joined in.

Sheesh. Where’s the love? That’s the problem. I get no love.

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