text: Prone to overthinking, Craig was having to keep himself in check. After 11 months with Vanessa this was their first Valentine’s Day and his friends had asserted that her expectations would be high. But the card and flowers he’d chosen had hit the sweet spot of extravagant, elegant and beautiful. She’d loved them. Everything was going well. Until she presented him with his card. “Thank you for the last 11 months,” she’d written. “I love you to the moon and back,” His heart swam. Yet, his head wouldn’t settle. “Dude, this isn’t good,” his subconscious murmured. “What? What do you mean?” he thought, concerned. “You mean... er...” his subconscious was flustered. “It... it doesn’t matter. Forget I said anything,” “Go on. What is it?” “It doesn’t matter. It’s just me. You know what I’m like when we’ve had a drink. Please forget I said anything. Just enjoy the evening,” Vanessa leans in, and they kiss. She takes a picture of the flowers to send to her friends and mother before they snuggle into the sofa to watch the evening trickle away in front of the TV. “Mum says you’ve done good,” Vanessa says, after her phone bleeps. “That’s one down,” he replies. “Hopefully your girls will think the same,” “They’re a tough crowd, but I think you may have just done enough,” she says, rubbing his arm. Sinking into the sofa Craig feels calm, peaceful and content. “Well, I say it doesn’t matter,” his subconscious chimes in again. “It kind of does,” But Craig doesn’t respond. Love Island has begun and the beautiful people begin a task called ‘The Good, The Bad and the sexy’. Had people worn the garments on display here, the old west would have been rife with sunburn, chaffing and yeast infections. “And when I say it matters, what I mean is it’s A REALLY BIG FUCKING DEAL!” “What the hell’s going on?” “She doesn’t love us anymore,” his subconscious sulks. “How d’you work that out?” “Look at the card. What does she say?” “She says she loves us,” “No, look closer,” He picks up the card to scan the inside. Noticing this, Vanessa snuggles in closer. “You’re just a big softy you aren’t ya?” she says. “Yeah, that’s me,” “She says she loves us to the moon and back,” he replies to his subconscious. “Exactly! There’s a clause,” “What are you talking about?” “Think about it. If she loved us unconditionally, then she’d have put just a simple ‘I love you’ or ‘I love you lots’. But here she loves us a finite amount, ‘to the moon and back’. Not any more than that! Sure, she’s chosen a beautiful planetary body, but it’s literally the closest one to us. Uranus is further, and she’d have scored more points for comedy value if she’d put that,” “You’re being paranoid. It’s just an expression,” “Am I? *Am I*?” “Of course you are. Look at her,” together they look down at Vanessa, her head resting on a cushion on his thigh and a hand resting on his knee. “You don’t have this level of intimacy with someone you’re looking to chuck,” “I’ve got one thing to say to you... Gemma Crichley,” Craig flinches. Aged 17 at a party in Danny Jackson’s house he’d spent hours holding Gemma’s hand, putting in the ground work, only to return from a beer run to find Jonathan Hunter plying her with Bacardi Breezers before sticking his tongue down her throat. “This is completely different,” “Is it? *Is it*? Just watch her,” Back on Love Island the cowboys are saving their damsel’s in distress in the traditional fashion. Each has to untie their partner from railway lines using their teeth before sweeping her up and kissing. In speedos and chaps. “There you go, did you feel it?” it asks. “Feel what?” “Her heart beat faster when that guy with the fancy hair came on. She clearly fancies him,” “So, what if she does? Everyone fancies someone off TV,” “True, but look at him. He’s well over 6 feet, big muscles and with no identifiable hair on his body. He’s some sort of human 2.0., how can we compete with that?” “We don’t have to compete with that. This show is not representative of society. They’re selected because of their physical features. They aren’t going to put someone ‘normal’ on TV because people think it doesn’t sell. But, she doesn’t compare us to them in the same way that we don’t compare her to... Scarlett Johansson,” “Bullshit, and you know it! Everyone compares everyone to everyone. Your hair matters, your clothes matter, the size of your pecker most definitely matters. Anyone that’s says it doesn’t is a liar or an idiot,” Craig fidgets. Not wanting to admit it to himself, but something in those words had touched a nerve. He tries to shake it off, but the guy with the hair is back and trying to be funny. He can feel his bile rising. When you have low body fat then surely you don’t need to infringe on funny. To make matters worse, his really obvious punchline had everyone falling about. Vanessa chuckles. “You couldn’t have got away with that kind of joke. You’d have to Bill Hicks the shit out of something to even crack a smile,” The chuckle turns to a full-blown laugh. “All that needs to happen is for her to find him funny. That’s the first in. She fell for you because of your sense of humour, but if someone else can out-funny you, then it all boils down to who brings it physically. And can you compete with that?” Despite his staunch resolve, Craig can feel his common sense being sodomised by the crazy phallus of his subconscious. Every single imaginable situation where he had seen Vanessa conversing with a man was now being analysed - the Amazon delivery guy that always gives a lingering wink - the Barista who’d asked her if she liked it milky - the green grocer that suggestively handed her the cucumber. “If you are right, and I’m not saying you are. Then what should I do?” There’s silence until his sub conscious replies quite matter-of-factly. “It’s simple. You do something spectacular!” “Spectacular?” “Yeah, you can’t sit back now, you’ve left it too long. We’re beyond the point of no return. You have to go nuclear,” “Shit!” he thinks, chastising himself for sleeping through all those Richard Curtis films. What could he do? Did he know how to go full-on nuclear? Or could he just dirty bomb? Better still could we get away with something far less spectacular, but be carbon-neutral? He shakes himself, trying to remember what his original train of thought had been. “Oh my God, that’s hilarious,” Vanessa says. Craig doesn’t know what he’s missed, but it’s something to do with the guy with the hair and it’s substantial enough to get her up from his lap, laughing on the edge of her seat. “He’s *so* funny,” she says. “We’re screwed,” it whines. Then, out of nowhere, inspiration strikes. The idea materialising so fast Craig gasps internally. “That’s it!” he thinks. “What? What is it?” it enquires. His subconscious is alive, fidgeting and clambering to gain some insight into what Craig is to do but gets nothing, he’s being driven by pure instinct. “You ok?” Vanessa asks, as Craig bolts upright. He turns to face her, still trying to find the right words. “Craig?” she enquires, concerned. “I’m fine. In fact, I’ve never been better,” he says, stepping forward and taking her hand. “Over the last year, I can truly say that I’ve never been happier, and it’s made me realise that I never want it to end,” and with that he gets down on one knee. “Go on, mate!” it yells. “So, will you marry me?” It’s only for milliseconds, but the shock on Vanessa’s face is real as she absorbs what’s happened. This momentous thing. Before, her face erupts into delight, and she flings her arms around him. “I will,” she squeals. They embrace and kiss, long and affectionately. Momentarily the world is blissfully quiet. “She’s smothering us,” it says.