Interestingly, though, I was the only one in the room who was impressed.
“She’s NOT attractive”, said Son on the Run, in the dismissive tone that only a teenage boy can muster. “All that muscle… she looks like a man”.
My other half just shrugged from behind his newspaper. He knew better than to get involved in a conversation like this (long years of marriage), but I did notice that he only gave Miss Rowland’s honed physique a cursory glance before he returned to the thrills of monetary union, or whatever was absorbing his attention.
Perplexed, I wondered aloud whether my sense of aesthetic had changed in the short time that I’ve been rowing.
Son on the Run agreed. He even went so far as to venture the opinion that several ladies in our squad are, ahem, equally over-muscled. I thought they looked fabulously defined.
It’s made me feel a bit more cheerful about all the upper body strength I’m losing during injury time, but I still think Kelly Rowland looked incredible. Maybe she’s a secret rower. After all, she is called Row-land.