The Danger of the Big Fish

I don’t think I’m much of a romantic. I’m just not. I know from experience that overtly romantic gestures like being forced to slow-dance to a Kenny G playing saxophonist in a shopping Mall turn me a gagging shade of embarrassed puce. Heaven forbid being serenaded by a bloke, unless you are a bona fide Rock God (Rod Stewart* singing ‘You Wear it Well’) I would rather eat used hairy wax-strips. Before the Husband I hated any Public Displays of Affection (P.D.A’s – get a room will you). While I love watching an oestrogen-fuelled rom-com, I’m not fooled by their ethereal plot lines. In my view if you love someone you do your best to keep their heart safe – sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad.

Despite my non-romantic leanings, lately (betwixt domestic chores) I’ve been thinking about long lost love or the one that got away - that fabled boyfriend/girlfriend from long ago with whom you were (as you remember it) blissfully happy but some cruel twist of fate terminated your happy ever after. I’ve thinking about the one that got away or the ‘Big Fish’, because a dear married friend of mine still pines for hers. He is a ghost of her wilder carefree past (they dated at University) a time before 9-5 employment, bills and the domestic realities of being an adult. She is still in contact with her Big Fish, although he is now a father and if her fears are confirmed is soon to be married to the mother of his child.

The problem is that I gave her the old ‘beds made and now we must sleep in them’ advice that my parents are rather fond of and she told me in no uncertain terms to ‘cut the shit’. So I started wondering about the lure of the Big Fish. Surely their charm is that they are the One that got away and for this very reason you won’t find yourself arguing with them whether the toilet seat should rest parallel or perpendicular to the toilet bowl. You won’t find yourself hassling your former love about outstanding bills or sex or any or the other nagging prolixity of adult domestic life.

The Big Fish will swim happily in your vague memories of another time when you were younger, more carefree and probably having a lot more fun. And it is for that reason that is exactly where they should remain. Because while it’s comforting to play a fantasy round of ‘what if’ when the suburban grind gets you down, if your Big Fish was scratching his testicles in bed next to you and leaving the toothpaste lid off you might find he’s not so unlike your current sprat.

After careful consideration I'm sticking to my initial (non-romantic) advice, as a wise man (my father) once said, “If you pull the Tiger’s tail you better be prepared to hold on for the ride.” And who knows you might just emerge from the encounter a roaring Tiger Wife.

Just a thought from a pragmatist to a romantic, take it, don’t take it, I’ll leave it with you.

*Rod Stewart, another of my crazed old man attractions. I saw him in concert, that man can rock skintight leopard print jeans like no other.