Thursday, 28 January 2010

Things not to say to your boyfriend part three and four

Double whammy:

"What do you mean, IF we have children? Why can't we have children? I want children." (In repsonse to a simple throw-away comment in which he said "if we have children one day...").

My head is mental.

Two minutes later:
"I weigh more than I ever have in my life, but I'm a healthy weight. You need to be a healthy weight to conceive." (part of unwarranted monologue about why I don't hate fat people.)

Apparently I am determined to convince my boyfriend that I am the sort of woman who steals sperm.

Tuesday, 19 January 2010

Let's talk about sex, baby

Boys are well known for talking and thinking about sex all the time. I'm generalising, but it's okay to do that with facts.

So, imagine my surprise to find out that boys dislike talking about sex in the context of their own sex life. This doesn't apply to when they exaggerate about their own sex life to their friends but only when talking to their girlfriend about the reality of their sex life.

The question is, how does one start a conversation about issues in one's sex life with one's boyfriend without making him feel inadequate?

You could be forgiven for thinking "easily" (after all, we're all grown-ups here, and it's just sex), but you would be wrong. There is literally nothing you can say to a man about any issues you have with your sex life without him assuming that you are just days away from leaving him for a well-oiled gigalo.

Try it out. Every statement you might possibly try and make to your boyfriend will be heard as "You are inadequate."

For example...

What you say: "I'd probably like it if we had sex more often."
What he hears: "You are inadequate and I am unsatisfied."

What you say: "I don't want to have quite as much sex as you seem to want to have."
What he hears: "You are inadequate and so bad in bed I can't bare it more than once a month, and that's being charitable."

What you say: "I'd like it if we spent more time cuddling."
What he hears: "You are inadequate and I see you more as a fat friend than an Adonis-esque lover."

What you say: "Would you like to try something different or kinky sometimes?"
What he hears: "You are inadequate and dull and I have a great deal of kinky experience with highly-sexed male models sporting obscenely large manhoods."

The list could go on.

So, what can we do? Have the "You think I'm inadequate" row ultimately ending in tears and retractions or keep the lip stiff and the porn handy?

You tell me. My girlfriends and I are at a loss.

Tuesday, 5 January 2010

Dear Man,

When one of your treasured possessions is not at your fingertips please remember that I am your love, your treasure, your esteemed princess, not a mischievous elf with a penchant for hiding socks.

Please know that when I helpfully recall the last time I saw said item I am not subtly admitting to being the last to have used it. Then hidden it for fun.

When I tell you I am sure I saw it on the table last week I am not implying that I saw it, used it and moved it to somewhere I knew you would never find it. Like a drawer or a bin.

When I suggest hiding places for your keys or wallet, like last night’s trouser pockets or the desk top where they are always kept, please don’t seethe and assume that I put them there when your back was turned because I like it when you’re late for work.

When I tidy up I do not throw all of your favourite things in the bin. I only throw your favourite things in the bin when you make me mad, and when I’m mad I don’t tidy. I throw your stuff in the bin.

Dearest Man, when one of your treasured possessions is not at your fingertips, remember that you probably put it somewhere stupid and look in the least likely place for it.

If you strongly suspect that I have hidden said possession, look in the drawer where said possession is supposed to live. If I have touched it that is where it will be.

Dearest Man, I have labelled the drawers.

Lots of love,

Monday, 4 January 2010

Money, money, money

My boyfriend and I are fairly typical when it comes to topics we most hate to venture into together. Who is better at scrabble (me), who does the most housework (me), who has the moral high ground (me), who has the nicest feet (me), who snores (him). And so on.

But the topic we hate the most is money. We have a system which is a little bit like the game you play as a child where you close your eyes and spin around really fast, laughing merrily all the way until you fall over in a heap and bang your head on the coffee table.

This month he banged his head on the coffee table last week, following which I gave him a high and mighty lecture about how spinning around so fast, no matter how much fun, was only going to result in a horrible headache and no social life for the next three weeks. He was suitably ashamed.

Until this morning, when I too banged my head. Really hard.

As I wept on his shoulder, complaining that not only had I given myself an almighty headache but I could no longer afford the repayments on the coffee table, he swept the moral high ground from under my feet by saying only “I love you and it will be ok.”

He does it on purpose to make me feel bad. Bastard.

So, what with it being a new year and therefore traditional to promise to be new people despite inevitable failure, we have made a money-plan. We have vowed to make a list of outgoings and incomings and spend only what we agree each month.

Most likely this will add a brand new layer of arguments to have about who has overspent and on what. (Him: taxis when running late to work and fine scotch; me: hair appointments and wine.)

It will also mean forgoing random trips like our recent outing in London which mainly involved drinking our own body weight in Sambuca and Champagne followed by an impromptu stay in a hotel having missed the last train. This hedonism was made worse (the next morning; at the time it was great fun) by the fact that the original plan that night was a cheap drink or two in Weatherspoon’s.

Not that we’ll miss such things having also promised to not to drink or smoke anymore.

Doomed to failure or New Year, new us? Only January will tell.