A girl named Zooey.

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My husband has a crush on a girl named Zooey.

Zooey has a voice that runs smooth like caramel and perfectly long and wavy hair that defies the frizzles.

I might've thought about being jealous except that he does things like:

When Zooey came to town, I was the one he carried high up on his shoulders, just so that I could see her better.

I've never been on someone's shoulders before.  Or seen the view.  The backs of all those heads, a swaying sea of pink and purple silhouettes, standing in awe of Zooey in her white dress, singing her little heart out.

Only he would think to give me a gift like that.  And knowing that made my view from the ground all the sweeter.