The Green Eyed Monster

I went to a hen night last night, which was really good fun (despite me having bronchitis, more on that later). At one point the conversation turned to men we think are hot, which of course prompted much lively discussion. As one of the girls regaled us with how badly her husband teases her because of her passion for a certain rugby player, I realised Alpha and I never exchange such banter.

You see, poor Alpha is a jealous soul. The very thought that I might harbour a crush on another male, even if the closest I'm ever going to get to said hottie is sitting in the front row at the Odeon staring up at the big screen, brings on a narrowing of the eyes and a jut of the jaw. I once waxed lyrical about the many skills of Louis Theroux, letting slip that as well as admiring his intellect and sense of humour I thought he was quite easy on the eye. Poor Alpha took it quite personally, barking that in his opinion Louis "is probably a moody bastard at home who never cracks a joke" then giving me a hurt look and saying: "I never would have thought that he would be your type". I've felt guilty about watching Louis on the telly ever since.

But... mea culpa. Although I like to think I'm above all kinds of petty jealousy it is true that I once whacked Alpha around the head with my handbag for blatantly checking out a hot girl; she was wearing a mini dress that showed off her endless brown legs to devastating effect while I was heavily pregnant with swollen ankles, heat rash, pasty skin and showing the ample evidence of having comfort-eaten my way to a scale-buckling weight - the exact opposite of my momentary rival.

I've also been known to pout whenever Alpha has been foolish enough to show too much interest in a girl at a party or get too cosy with an ex. But I don't get wound up by his Pamela Anderson obsession (which I consider healthier than his tedious love-affair with Jeremy Clarkson and Top Gear) because I know that IF Pammy were to decide her life isn't worth living without a certain darkly handsome British-accented Kiwi hybrid male at her side, and so boarded a London-bound flight in an attempt to lure Alpha from his small flat, nagging spouse and insane children in favour of her sprawling LA pad complete with pole dancing equipment and vibrating bed (probably), Alpha would head swiftly for the hills.

I too, if Louis were to come begging, would not hesitate in knocking the foolish knave back. You see, what's on telly or the silver screen will never compare to the love that's already in your life, even though it snores like a warthog and leaves beard trimmings all over the sink.