We took a brief respite at work today: right before lunch when everyone was low on blood sugar and trying to kill time. If you try and do real stuff then, it’s bad news. But, at the same time, you don’t want to go for lunch too early and make your afternoon horrendously long. So, a pre-lunch “respite”. During said respite, one of my co-workers was contemplating how a completely normal seeming guy hit on her at the bus stop yesterday.
Now, this is weird. Our consensus (from a statistically significant number of women who were all on the fairer side of ugly) was that normal, nice looking, well dressed, pleasant, articulate guys, as a general rule, don’t randomly strike up conversations or blatantly hit on girls/women at bus stops. They may think about it, but it’s only the creepy, sleazy guys who ever do it.
Upon arriving home after being hit on, she promptly told her boyfriend. He was indifferent and somewhat skeptical. He was in trouble.
This lead to a discussion of jealousy: whose SigOthers are and whose aren’t. Mine isn’t.
Should I be worried? Am I upset that he’s not bothered when I chat up his friends and relatives? Or when I go out for drinks with my former co-workers, several of whom are [gasp!] men? God, no.
Mr. QuarterRest is never going to be the guy who beats the shit out of another guy for looking at me. I think he’d be secretly (or not so secretly) proud of the fact that some guy hit on his wife. We’ve been together for-bloody-ever. I think if I was going to go off with someone, I’d’ve done it by now. It’s not that he’s allowed to get complacent, nor is it that we have no issues. I make sure to keep things lively with threats of a second tattoo, a myriad of hypothetical whims and the occasional 2-day string of curses with no apparent trigger. But, for whatever reasons, we trust each other in this. I think that’s all there is to it.
But, today, I found myself defending it to my querying co-workers. I began having mid-morning-talk-show visions with me as the guest who needs to see the light.
That was truly bizarre.
As though somehow my relationship was lacking because neither one of us gets all huffy over time spent with the opposite sex.
If that’s the case, fail me, Dr. Phil.