I love that my boyfriend is a musician.
He’s one of the most talented and exciting guitarists and songwriters I know. When I first ever saw him perform in his band I just knew that I was going to bonk him one day.
One of the things I appreciate about him is that he is the FIRST to champion me and Decades. He will tell everyone about my achievements and our music before his own.
One hot summer’s night a few weeks back, he and I were mincing and rinsing at a waterfront bar in Akaroa called Harbar (you gotta smash those fish tacos… innuendo not intended but encouraged) while our friends played an acoustic gig as we overlooked the ocean and got eaten alive by mosquitoes (cunts).
Over the course of the night, our table seemed to accumulate a vast array of locals; two women in particular stick out in my mind due to how they reacted when another local jovially told them, “you’re sitting with a group of world-class musicians here!”
The two women looked across at us: me, my boyfriend and our male (relevent) mate.This was one of those nights where I was assumed; The Musician’s Girlfriend™.
The two women looked absolutely ecstatic, “Oh my gosh, how exciting, what kind of music do you guys play?” etc. The gushing went on for a while as they eyeballed the boys and occasionally would shoot me glance that seemed to say: “These guys are so cool!”
I relish these occurrences like a delicious pasta, slurping as I mull over the fun I can have before they find out I am also a musician and not just The Musician’s Girlfriend™.
I leaned in to the women and said “I know, and obviously I am just a secretary for some dude or something, feeling pretty privileged sitting at this table with these world class musicians!” insert fucking oscar-winning twinkly eye look of idolisation at the boys
“Oh, darling – talk yourself up! You’re an executive to the manager!”
“Oh yes, absolutely.”
I eat the assumptions up. Cue another 10 minutes of them back-and-forthing with the boys about how amazing they are, without the boys having much luck getting a word in edgewise. I could see my boyfriend just frothing at the bit to scream his praises about me.
It didn’t actually happen until a couple hours later when all had been forgotten and several more bottles of whatever-the-fuck had been consumed later at the table when I saw our song pop up on the streaming app of a major radio station here. (Yes I psychotically check because being on the radio is insanely exciting for 10 year old me who lives deep down inside my blackened-cynical-adult-heart).
I discreetly and excitedly leaned over to show my boyfriend this micro-development in my evening – internally filled with narcissistic supply, and he grabbed that as his moment.
“EMMA’S SONG IS ON THE RADIO RIGHT NOW” he yells at the entire table while holding up my phone for all to see.
The looks on those women’s faces… absolutely delectable.