But it’s Saturday night and I am in, writing this and watching Sex and the City repeats, because he’s working on his bike.
Now it is apparently a great bike (Orange 5) and it does have a sparkly black paintwork. And true, I would rather he have this kind of mistress than a mistress kind of mistress. But it does seem I have entered a world where rear derailleurs and cables rule and I’m a second class citizen because I have legs not wheels.
Hearing the clack-clack-clacking of gears whirring in my kitchen means I know we are not going out to dinner. Not snuggling on the sofa with a glass and wine and definitely not doing anything else worth writing about.
If I were being fair and balanced I would say I am so pleased he has a hobby. It’s healthy, it gets him out of my hair and means that when he blows £500 on a frame (seriously not even a whole bike, just a frame!) he doesn’t moan when I accidentally buy a £200 handbag.
And though you may expect otherwise I do feel a bit angry at her when he gets home from a weekend away and find that the rear mec (is that spelt right?) hanger fell off, which means he couldn’t ride her anyway!
The treacherous tease!