Sometimes reality is so disappointing. There I was harbouring a lovely crush on a football player called Ryan Giggs. Oh sure, I know I never had a chance with him. I know that even if he did see me and say “Hello”, I’d have blushed and dashed off without even having the sense to ask for an autograph.
Unfortunately, he’s been accused of having an affair with a beauty queen and reality-TV star. I’ve found Ryan’s shine has distinctly diminished for me. I think I preferred him when he was remote and unavailable rather than a player and someone who boffs a shallow beauty queen and puts his marriage in jeopardy. OK, even I joked about having Ryan as a freebee but I know I never had a chance with him. I suppose that it would be nice to imagine he likes women like me: intelligent, fun and foxy. Unfortunately he’s proved himself to be like a lot of other men – liking anyone pretty who happens to be nearby. It’s not an attractive quality that a lot of men have.
While I still admire him as a footballer, I don’t have a crush on him anymore. I preferred the fantasy, thanks very much. If Helios wants Ryan’s autograph, I’ll just march up to him and get it. If he wants to give me a peck on the cheek, I’ll have to say no thanks.