My Men

We went for coffee with our neighbour, Architect, today. When we are out together and we run into people we know, I sometimes tell them one is my husband, the other is my boyfriend.

Architect is always neatly groomed. I think he preens though he would never admit it. The Man generally looks good, though depending on his mood, he can look like a boorish jerk to sophisticated dandy. But when The Man and Architect go out together, they are often mistaken as gay men.

We walked along Queen Street today. I noticed other men looking at them. I stood back to take in the effect. Architect looked dashing, with a black leather jacket, jeans, and pointy cowboy boots. The Man looked intellectual and outdoorsy, with a thick red sweater, jeans, muckers, and hair flying in the wind. Two grey-haired, bearded men walking side by side, enjoying each other's company.

It made me laugh, and I had an urge to pimp them.

And how did I fit in with them? I didn't. I was invisible beside them, looking like I was not associated with them at all. And besides, I was feeling like the dog's breakfast that the cat spat out. Serves me right for not showering this morning.