I have acquired a husband. He is French, he is tall and he is terribly jealous and posessive. He is also completely imaginary. I summon him up when I am being mildly hassled by blokes who are too pleasant to be assualted with a barrage of abusive sounding Gaelic yet too insistent to be off of with a simple ‘non merci’ to their invitations to coffee.
Thing is, when I’m bluffing about him, I almost start to believe in him myself. I get a little buzz at the thought of him waiting impatiently for me at home in our wonderful apartment, cooking something delicious for a romantic dinner a deux. Yes his jealousy IS a bit over the top at times but he considers me such a prize he presumes all other men are crazy for me too. What a fall I set myself up for when I am faced again with the stark reality of my dog smelling room and a melted lump of camembert.

However for all my husband is tall, sexy and loves me I’d drop him in a shot if one actual cutey asked me for coffee.