Being the wife or girlfriend (WAG) of a famous footballer isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Trust me.
We met in a dark, dingy nightclub. It was back when you could still smoke indoors and I spotted him through a grey cloud. He was surrounded by lots of people behind a velvet rope. My 18-year-old self couldn’t possibly think of anything cooler than a guy with a posse behind a rope. HOT.
We chatted, he got my number and informed me that we’d be going out to dinner the very next evening.
I knew that the mysterious man was a Someone (the rope and the posse gave it away) but it wasn’t until I casually mentioned his name in front of my family the next day, that I realised he was a Pretty Big Deal Someone in the sporting world. The football (as in soccer, not NRL) world, in particular.
My brother, a soccer lover, was very, very impressed.
The Footballer and I did go on our first date that evening. He picked me up in his fancy car, wearing fancy clothes. We had a fancy dinner, and then went back for a drink at his fancy-pants house. It was all very cliché.
I fell in love hard and fast. We were “official” after a couple of weeks of knowing each other, and that was it: I was the girlfriend of a famous sportsman.
A WAG. Life was suddenly looking pretty damn fancy.