For anyone who thinks I’m weird (hello!) my boyfriend, Jack, is at least 73% weirder than me. This just happened:
Jack walks into the living room while I’m watching TV, and I don’t look at him but I can feel that he wants me to look at him. He walks past me a few times and clears his throat.
He’s wearing a medium length black coat and a scarf. Jack isn’t really the scarf wearing type, particularly in mild weather, so he looks different than normal. I have to say, he looks very handsome and fashionable in his coat and scarf. The thing is, I can tell he is self conscious. He’s the sort of guy who doubts his fashion choices and who needs reassurance. He also overthinks everything.
He clears his throat again.
“What do you think?”
“Yeah…but what have you got it on for now? We aren’t going anywhere tonight.”
“Yeah…erm, I might go for a walk just…around.”
Now reader, this might seem perfectly normal but Jack and I never walk anywhere from our home. You see, we live a few kilometres from a forest park, so we always drive there for our walks instead. Hence, Jack going for a walk alone at night from our house is not a regular occurrence.
“Erm, why would you do that?” I ask.
The thing is, I already know the answer. Jack knows he looks handsome in his coat and much like a child who gets a new Ironman tshirt, he wants to show it off.
There’s a silence.
“Does my coat really look nice?” he asks again, adjusting the sleeves. Before I can answer, he asks another question: “Do you think it’s too early in the year to wear a coat?”
Since I’m watching one of the last episodes of How I Met Your Mother, I’m not really paying adequate attention to Jack. I just shrug.
“It’s just…I don’t wanna go out wearing a coat if I look like a douche.”
“Maybe we could watch the news? If the reporters are wearing coats and scarves then maybe I can too?”
“I’m not changing the channel, love.”
“Right. Will ya just check the temperature there on your phone?”
I reluctantly check, silently worrying that my weirdness is contagious and I have seriously infected Jack.
“It’s thirteen degrees.”
“That’s cold, right?”
“I’d say it’s more…mild.”
“Ah, damn it.”
And then all I see is Jack flouncing out of the room, dramatically ripping off his coat. He still hasn’t come back downstairs.
He looked a little like this, except it wasn’t a duffel coat…and he’s not a cat.