Rockstar

It was as if my whole life, I had been the tux and my wife had been the LBD, and then I saw her, the rockstar.

She was sitting in the crowded metro, deeply absorbed in her i-pod. An old lady got up at the next stop and she lept to her feet to allow her the seat. As the train began gathering speed, she caught hold of one of those hanging handles and flicked her poker straight black hair away from her face.

She was young, probably in college, or fresh out of it. She was wearing a black t-shirt with a glittering Rolling Stones tongue leering out. She had on a short purple denim skirt (purple, really!) and red leggings with frightful geometric patterns on them. She was carrying an obscenely large red backpack and hugging a laptop encased in an eye-hurting lime green cover. And she was nodding, constantly nodding her head in a rhythmic beat to the what-have-you emanating from her earphones. She was wearing a frightening amount of eye-liner and pink lipstick or gloss or whatever it is that girls these days call it. She wasn't wearing make-up, at least none of the rouge or the blush or the foundation and other stuff my wife usually wears.

She was a rockstar.

What would it be like, to know her? What would it be like, to be married to a rockstar, instead of an elegant make-up wearing, diamond choker embellished LBD wife?

The rockstar pulled out one of her earphones while she answered her phone, holding her phone case with her teeth. ''Sup?'' she said.

She looked like one of the girls who could bake, and not cook. Who liked wearing jackets instead of pullovers. Who would probably feed my sons peanut butter sandwiches for lunch when they came to visit, or take my little granddaughter to get her ears pierced.

My cell phone buzzed. It was my wife. She had taken the car for the day, which is why I had to take the metro.

''Where are you?''

''I'm at Sunny Park.''

''Oh good, get off and meet me at the crossing.''

I obediently got off (so did the rockstar). I walked out into the sun, squinting, till I saw my car waiting at the side of the road, my wife in the driver's seat. I got in next to her. She was wearing a black dress and elegant make-up and sunglasses.

''Get in quickly, the traffic's about to start moving.''

In front of me, I saw rockstar tearing across the road as the green man blinked its last.

''Hey, how was your day? You will not believe what happened at work!'' my wife said as she started the car.

''Have you ever..... do you like rockstars?'' I said interrupting her suddenly.

''Rockstars? You mean like Sting? I like Sting. Why? I always thought rock wasn't your thing. I mean, you like jazz right?''

''Never mind,'' I said, 'What was it that happened at work?''