A fictionalized column about jealousy.
My girlfriend, Megan, is striking. I knew this when I asked her out. Somehow, I was still surprised to discover that other people had functioning eyesight.
At parties, I began noticing every glance and compliment. I privately kept score, despite there being no competition, no prize, and no request from Megan for this service.
I told myself I was protecting the relationship. Mostly, I was standing nearby with an expression that suggested the drinks had personally offended me.
One evening, Megan asked whether I was enjoying myself. I explained that the attention she received made me feel like a supporting character.
“I’m here with you,” she said. “I’d quite like to spend some of the evening with you.”
This was difficult to reconcile with the twenty minutes I had just spent watching other men watch her. I had become so concerned about losing her attention that I had stopped giving her mine.
She could handle an ordinary compliment. If somebody bothered her and she wanted support, she could tell me. We could also discuss what each of us considered appropriate flirting. None of that required me to supervise her conversations or mark out territory with my shoulders.
I put down the imaginary scorecard and joined her at the table. She laughed at something I said. It was a pleasant reminder that being her boyfriend involved more than monitoring the people who were not.
The party improved considerably once I stopped attending it as security staff.
