I had known my future husband for a few months. I already loved him.
One afternoon, a female friend of his stopped by his place. Exuberant, witty, dressed in a bohemian way, feminine, unique. Me: completely paralyzed. It seemed obvious that my boyfriend would eventually find her much more interesting than me—I felt like a total snooze.
The final blow came when we got hungry. My sweetheart asked her, “Would you fix us a salad?” She opened the fridge and, in a flash, put together a big, colorful, delicious salad, overflowing with ingredients I didn’t even know the names of.
Numb, switched-off, from then on I spoke only in monosyllables, unable to emerge from what I experienced as an unavoidable fate. I could tell that, with my attitude, I was self-fulfilling the prophecy, but in the depths of my distress, and despite my long training, I failed to pull the wool over their eyes.
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