I hate flowers and he’d rather just stay home. I like Italian cuisine and he prefers the double cheeseburger menu in McDonald’s. We usually settle on a salad or pizza, but it’s a major point of discussion. I can’t seem to remember our anniversary, despite the countless reminders set on both of our phones. He never misses an opportunity to pretend that he forgot when my birthday was. My sister’s convinced that’s not a real relationship unless you treat it like one. And yet... I cook and he does the dishes. I empty the teapot and he fills the kettle. I never put enough salt and he’s probably on the verge of heart disease because of the number of condiments he uses. When he forgets he has a job interview tomorrow, I remember. When I forget my laptop charger at his place, he brings it back to me, even though it’s rush hour and he’s 20 miles away. I tuck him in and put away his glasses so they don’t break because I’m the last one to fall asleep. He is the first one to wake up so he can hug me and make sure my morning starts off a little bit better, despite the early rise. I don’t know what the latest definition of a ‘real’ relationship is. And frankly, I don’t care.
1 Nov 2018
The ‘Real’ Relationship by Vera Baklanova
We don’t have dates.
I hate flowers and he’d rather just stay home. I like Italian cuisine and he prefers the double cheeseburger menu in McDonald’s. We usually settle on a salad or pizza, but it’s a major point of discussion. I can’t seem to remember our anniversary, despite the countless reminders set on both of our phones. He never misses an opportunity to pretend that he forgot when my birthday was. My sister’s convinced that’s not a real relationship unless you treat it like one. And yet... I cook and he does the dishes. I empty the teapot and he fills the kettle. I never put enough salt and he’s probably on the verge of heart disease because of the number of condiments he uses. When he forgets he has a job interview tomorrow, I remember. When I forget my laptop charger at his place, he brings it back to me, even though it’s rush hour and he’s 20 miles away. I tuck him in and put away his glasses so they don’t break because I’m the last one to fall asleep. He is the first one to wake up so he can hug me and make sure my morning starts off a little bit better, despite the early rise. I don’t know what the latest definition of a ‘real’ relationship is. And frankly, I don’t care.
I hate flowers and he’d rather just stay home. I like Italian cuisine and he prefers the double cheeseburger menu in McDonald’s. We usually settle on a salad or pizza, but it’s a major point of discussion. I can’t seem to remember our anniversary, despite the countless reminders set on both of our phones. He never misses an opportunity to pretend that he forgot when my birthday was. My sister’s convinced that’s not a real relationship unless you treat it like one. And yet... I cook and he does the dishes. I empty the teapot and he fills the kettle. I never put enough salt and he’s probably on the verge of heart disease because of the number of condiments he uses. When he forgets he has a job interview tomorrow, I remember. When I forget my laptop charger at his place, he brings it back to me, even though it’s rush hour and he’s 20 miles away. I tuck him in and put away his glasses so they don’t break because I’m the last one to fall asleep. He is the first one to wake up so he can hug me and make sure my morning starts off a little bit better, despite the early rise. I don’t know what the latest definition of a ‘real’ relationship is. And frankly, I don’t care.
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