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.