The man walked in the door, still in his shoes and coat, and blurted out, Emily, we need to have a serious talk. His eyes widened like saucers, as if hed just seen a ghostor worse, a sale at John Lewis. Without pausing for breath, he declared, Ive fallen in love!
*Well, here we go,* Emily thought. *Midlife crisis has arrived. Welcome to the club.* She gave him a careful once-oversomething she hadnt properly done in years (five? six? or had it already been eight?).
They say your life flashes before your eyes when youre about to die. For Emily, it was her entire life with her husband that flashed by. Theyd met in the most modern of ways: online. Shed shaved off three years in her profile; hed added an inch to his height. And so, with a bit of creative truth-stretching, they somehow matched each others checkboxes andagainst all oddsfound one another.
Emily couldnt remember who messaged first, but she knew his opening line had been free of cringe, laced with self-deprecating humour, which she appreciated. At thirty-three, with a clear-eyed assessment of her market value, she knew she wasnt exactly at the back of the queuebut close enough. For their first date, she opted against desperation chic, choosing instead a smart outfit, oversized sunglasses, and a well-stocked handbag containing homemade biscuits and a dog-eared copy of *Pride and Prejudice.*
Miraculously, it went well (who knew the right outfit could work such magic?). Their romance unfolded with alarming speed. They had fun together, and after six months of steady datesand relentless parental nagging about grandchildrenhe finally proposed. A small wedding followed, because nothing terrifies the English more than an extravagant display of emotion.
Life was… fine. Their marriage was more temperate than tropical, with no dramatic storms, just the occasional drizzlewasnt that what happiness was? Her husband, a classic blokes bloke, shed his emotionally deep, tragically romantic handyman persona within weeks of the wedding and settled into his true self: a dependable, slightly dull man in sweatpants.
Emily, meanwhile, loosened the corset of her mysterious, intellectual, effortlessly sexy homemaker image bit by bituntil pregnancy accelerated the process. Within a year, she, too, surrendered to the bliss of elasticated waistbands and fluffy slippers.
The fact that neither mourned their abandoned personas convinced Emily theyd made the right choice. Life with two kids was chaotic, their ship rocked oftenbut it never capsized. When the storms passed, they sailed on, happily average in every measurable way.
Twelve years in, her husband had never once been caught flirtingnot that Emily was the jealous type. She imagined him trying and snorted at the absurdity. Early on, hed admitted compliments werent his forte, opting instead for meaningful eye bulges, like a startled owl. Over time, shed learned to read them all: wild admiration, quiet approval, utter confusion, sheer outrage.
Now, picturing him unleashing those owl-eyes at some random woman, she croaked, So… whats her name, then?
His eyes nearly popped out of his head. How did youwait, how did you even?! He fumbled in his pocket and produced a tiny, greyish-brown hamster with pink ears, a twitchy nose, and beady black eyes. Look at her! So soft! So perfect! She reminds me of you!
Emily stared at her husband, his new love, and their mutual adoration. She was overjoyed. Of all the creatures in the world, hed fallen for the one that looked just like her.
