I saw you. Yeah you! You checked out my boyfriend whilst we were walking hand-in-hand. You even had the audacity to give the confused “are they really a couple look”? It’s not just in my head!
Not to seem big-headed but there has always been an unsaid mutual agreement that I was the hot one of the couple. Buoyed by this I had only ever previously been aware of when I was getting the once over by a guy, it had never occurred to me that meanwhile girls were checking out my man. That was until we got to Barcelona. I don’t know what it is about it here, maybe the fact that the more stereotypically desired tall, dark and handsome (maybe not so much of the tall) is on tap so my fair-headed boy stands out all the more? Or maybe its the glow of his sun-tanned skin than has blown new life into his complexion (a true phenomenon to me as I’ve only ever known him as pasty under London’s grey skies). Whatever it is I am now conscious to it, like the spotting of the one yellow car and suddenly realising ever other car you see is also yellow, I cannot undo the seeing of eyes lingering over him. Anytime I witness it I look at him in amazement. Who are you?
My suspicions that other women might actually find my beau desirable were finally confirmed at the beach one hot afternoon. After many rounds of volleyball we were all bathing in our sweat when a bubbly lady came over to our group and directly speaking to R opened with, “I just wanted to say I was watching your volley game and you were really good.” Embarrassed he replied thank you and the conversation continued. We learnt she was a Swede who also played volley and when we all finally exchanged names he gave her his. “Oh that’s my husband’s name too”.
The husband was nowhere to be seen!