‘So if I left you for someone else,’ I begin, eyes still on the telly, where Annette Bening is confronting Julianne Moore in The Kids Are All Right, ‘would it make it better or worse if it were for a woman?’
I like hypotheticals as much as the next woman, but unlike some girls I know I’ve never asked him where he would hole up if a zombie plague were to take hold of the City of London, whether he would want to know if he were actually a robot, or which superpower he would pick if he could have one.
A good, plump, juicy hypothetical needs to be titillating. And titillating is all that they are. Eavesdrop on two women in the pub and they’ll unleash a wild hypothetical every 15 minutes, which is how I know exactly who would be my second husband (and what would be a respectful time frame after my current husband’s tragic demise), which street I would live on in Barcelona, and why I’d be happier living out my days there, bald, than at home, afflicted by acute facial eczema.
‘I suppose I just find trying to fill a void with idle, gossipy chit-chat fairly pointless.’ And with that, he gets back to his Twitter feed.