Yesterday over lunch I joked with my girlfriend.
Your guy is so cool, I said. Pity we can’t share him.
He is really lovely. Apart from being gorgeous with great abs and a man bun, he has money, knows how to cry, wears flannel shirts and expensive cologne.
Sexy. Did I mention sexy?
She gave me a terrible stare and was silent for the next few minutes.
I thought I may have lost a friend forever.
And then, as if she’d suddenly seen the light, she snapped her fingers and ordered a bottle of champagne.
Apparently we were celebrating!
It’s a bloody good idea, she said. It would take all the pressure off me. He’s demanding, always wants sex, also food, and expects me to talk to him all the time. All the bloody time. I tell ya, it’s exhausting.
We plotted. We planned. We were brilliant. She got out her computer and made a spreadsheet.
She would have him on Monday and Friday, I would get him on Tuesday. Wednesday would be a day off and actually we would offer him to another friend on the Thursday.
Twice a week is good for her and I only need a man once a week.
He could do whatever he wanted on the weekend. We wouldn’t ask any questions.
He shouldn’t live with any of us, we decided. He could stay in a hotel. We’d go to him and have the benefits of room service and huge baths that no-one had to clean afterwards. We’d never have to change the linen and someone else would throw away the condoms.
Huge bonus; we’d never have to cook. Or talk much.
We decided to open up the offer. We invited other women in the restaurant to join our table and handed out the spreadsheet. Weekends were still free if anyone wanted him and maybe every second Monday.
We got a bit carried away and started working out times and rates and charges and then –
He walked in.
We all went very quiet. They kissed each other hello. He’d bought her flowers. And a little something in a box.
They moved to another table.
Jokes over, she said. Keep your hands off my man.
Apparently it’s not really okay to share boyfriends.
Or even to objectify men.