Hubby is disappointed. We have just booked our trip to Barcelona, just for the two of us, to celebrate the fact that we have been together for twenty five years. The flights are booked, the hotel organised and then he discovers that FC Barcelona are playing at home on the day we leave. He has always wanted to go to a European match, and it doesn't get better than at the Nou Camp. I feel bad, but it's too late to change the bookings.
On our second day in the city, we are strolling back to our hotel. We take a slightly different route, just for the fun of it. We stumble across the FC Barcelona store. We decide a Barca shirt would be the perfect present for the Boy. We go in. At the door is a big notice: Sunday's match has been rescheduled to Saturday night. There is a scrum of men at one of the tills. We enquire - yes, indeed, tickets can be purchased. Some thirty minutes later we leave clutching a printout that confirms that we have bought one of the few remaining pairs of tickets.
Hubby is delighted and so am I. But the reaction of other people is perplexing. 'Oh', they say to Hubby, 'What will you have to pay the Wife for that? She's going to do some serious shopping now.' Huh? Since when was this not his holiday too? Since when did couples go on holiday and do nothing but shop and eat cake? Since when did women become such selfish harridans?
I'll tell you since when - since we've been told for the past God knows how many years that We Are Worth It. Since we've all been getting out our credit cards to buy into the designer lifestyle, because We Are Worth It. Since we decided that we all needed Me Time, which is definitely not Him Time. Since handbags and cocktails and shoes and girlie nights out have been elevated to the status of rights, not luxuries. And it's all complete bollocks. Or whatever the female equivalent metaphor would be.
We spent our Saturday night at the football, and I loved it. I loved that Hubby was so excited, I loved that he was getting to do something he really, really wanted to do. I loved the whole experience, seeing the similarities with, and differences to, English football, watching the people, soaking in the atmosphere. It was great fun, and we still had dinner together afterwards (albeit at nearly midnight).
Hubby and the Boy have decided that when the Boy is old enough, they are going to do their own version of the Grand Tour, visiting the great football stadiums of Europe. I think it is a marvellous idea, but I'm a little jealous too.
