The Silliest Arguments I’ve Had With My Partner

Why, hello there. Fancy meeting you here. Is that a new shirt? How’s your significant other/family pet? Okay, now that the awkward small talk is out of the way, let’s get cracking!

I recently read the most hilarious thread on Reddit about the silliest arguments couples have had with their other halves. It got me thinking about my lovely other half, and our famously petty arguments. So here, for your viewing (er, reading?) pleasure, are the stupidest arguments that we’ve had (or continually have) throughout our relationship:

DISCLAIMER: 90% of the time, Jack and I are normal people who get on better than 1980’s Oprah and a Twinkie. Sometimes we disagree. And it’s ridiculous. Prepare to judge us.

1.I was once watching a programme about a man with a pet hippopotamus. The man fed the hippo litres of coffee everyday. Jack laughed and said ‘she reminds me of you’. He meant because she’s seriously addicted to coffee but since I had a bigger case of PMS than Bill O’ Reilly on his own show, I freaked out because I basically thought he was calling me a hippo. There was a lot of tearful ‘WHY DON’T I JUST GO LIVE IN THE RIVER’s before I finally calmed down and realised that meh, hippos are awesome anyway.

 

2.Conversely, I once called him ‘my little badger’ on account of his greying hair, which FYI, I LOVE. Turns out I meant Silver Fox. Fox, badger…what’s the real difference amirite?! *Nervous laugh*

3.I had a dream that he cheated on me with Rita Ora and honestly I couldn’t even look at him the next day. Now when I see her on TV, I actively hiss.

4.I woke him up from a dream where he was chopping wood with Steve Guttenberg and it was ‘the best dream ever’ and I ‘ruined it.’ How do I even apologise for that?!

5.He threw my stuffed owl toy in an old box and he got dirty. Hooty was never quite the same after that. *stares sadly into the distance*

6.I beat him at chess and just before I checkmated his ass, he flipped the board over. He says he “fell” but who karate chops a chess board as they’re falling?!

7.I make him apologise to our pets when he gets snarky with them. The dog knows when he’s being sarcastic.

8.When we play video games and he kills any animals. MONSTER.

9.When I don’t listen. Here’s an example:

Jack: Love, did you hear Leonard Nimoy died?

Me: Uh-huh.

*2 hours later*

Me: Oh no! Leonard Nimoy died!

Cue much disgruntled tutting and eye rolling. 

10. When he throws his clothes on the floor. He has a wardrobe and a laundry basket RIGHT THERE but oh no, the floor seems as good a place as any for his clothes. *Deep breath from inhaler*

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11. When he farts and deliberately closes all the windows in the car, or wafts the smell towards my unsuspecting and delicate nose. Animal.

12. When he “honks” my boobs. IT HURTS.

13. His procrastination is so bad that he makes Hamlet look like John McClane. I’ve forgiven him because he has just inspired me to write the greatest screenplay of all time, which may or may not involve a Shakespearean-Die Hard crossover. *Scribbles furiously on notepad*

14. When it’s his turn to cook, I can see him in the kitchen manically over-seasoning everything. I don’t want to sound high maintenance so I tentatively ask ‘um, are you sure the steaks need that much salt and pepper?’ and he’ll tell me he used a ‘pinch’ even though I’ve seen him twist the pepper grinder like a genius kid on TV works a Rubik’s Cube.

 

 

15. I have a habit of unintentionally figuring out the endings of mystery/horror films. I say something like ‘I’ve got it now. I know who killed the gardener!’ For about twenty seconds, there’ll be a silence and then an exasperated sigh as he says ‘fiiiine. Who did it?’ I explain that it was clearly the chimney sweep, because he suddenly got that fancy new rake and sweeping brush set. Obvs.

16. I’m almost always on the other line when he’s trying to call me for something important. In my defence, hearing my friend’s dog howl the theme tune to Baywatch is pretty important. Jack can pull himself out of a car wreckage. HE HAS TWO HANDS. Sheesh.

17. Whether cheese is the ambrosia of the gods or a curdled block of unspeakable malevolence.

18. We in Ireland have several words for a hair tie or thin scrunchie. I say ‘bobble’, he says ‘bobbin’. BOBBLE/BOBBIN, LET’S CALL THE WHOLE THING OFF!

19. He wants to put items of clothing on the cat. The cat (and her very over-protective mother) don’t approve.

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Yes, that’s my cat. In a fez. She also has a duffel coat.

20. I like to drink pint glasses of milk, which he thinks is weird. He eats his pasta and sauce straight from the saucepan with no plate, but sure, I’m the weird one. At least I’m weird with strong bones. So there. 

I wish I could say this is it, but there’s so many more. The important thing is that he is amazing and we love each other and CLOTHES DO NOT BELONG ON THE FLOOR….I mean, you know….true love.

Do you have any petty arguments you’d like to share? Unload in the comments!

 

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Being in a Long-Term Relationship 

I have been in a relationship for twelve years. Yes, someone has put up with me for twelve long years. Although there have been times that my boyfriend and I have wanted to kick each other in the shins, we generally are a content and functioning couple. Just don’t put one slice of pizza in front of us, because it won’t end well.



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During these past twelve years, I’ve learned a lot of things: don’t ever shave your eyebrows, the capital of Australia is Canberra and-

Oh right, I was talking about my relationship.

Yeah, I learned some stuff about relationships too. Here it is:

1. Small Things Become Big Things

If you’d have told me at the start of our relationship that we would one day be arguing about who’s turn it is to make the tea, I’d have probably scoffed and arrogantly reassured myself that we would never become that couple. The thing is, when you both get used to each other, and I mean, really used to each other, you do start to argue about seemingly trivial matters. Some of our most ridiculous arguments have included:

  • Teabags: is it ever okay to put them in the sink?
  • The dog knows when you’re lying to her!
  • Those are my socks!
  • Pick up the damn towel!
  • HOW CAN A THIMBLE OWN A HOTEL?!



I’ve, er, never done this…

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The important thing is to remember that these are inconsequential matters and you really do love each other and all that other crap.

2. You Stop Trying To Impress Each Other

The start of a relationship is a lot of fun; you can’t keep your hands off each other and you’re yet to find out about his weird Barry Manilow obsession *shudder*. It’s also a time fraught with nerves and attempts to impress each other. After twelve years, I’m completely comfortable around Jack. I don’t feel the need to wear lots of makeup or even brush my hair. Okay, so I brush my hair…sometimes…on Sundays. 



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3. You Exist in Your Own Little World

Sometimes Jack and I will be around a family member or a friend, and this will happen:

Jack: Will you get the…?

Me: Yeah, but should I make the…?

Jack: That’d be nice. I’ll get a…

Me: Perfect, thanks.

My sister: WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TWO TALKING ABOUT?!

Only we know. And possibly dolphins. 



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4. The Small Gestures Become Better Than The Big Ones

Jack doesn’t often buy me flowers. Instead, he makes me a cup of tea (despite our arguments) without me asking on a cold day, he has dinner on the table when I come home from work, and he wraps me in blanket when I’m cold. Sometimes he buys me flowers but I honestly prefer the little gestures; they’re much more thoughtful and considerate. Although I wouldn’t say no to a Mercedes.



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5. Their Annoying Habits Become Unbearable 

I love Jack. I do. Really. But when he mumbles monosyllables at me when I ask him a question I WANT TO THROW CACTII AT HIM. *calms down* I’m good, I’m okay. 

Likewise, I annoy him. But everyone sounds loud when chewing steak, right? RIGHT? 



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6. You Get into a Comfortable Routine

I always sleep on the right side of the bed. I sit on the right side of the coach. I have my mug, he has his mug:



It’s very amoosing…

He knows that I like my tea milky and I know that he likes his strong (enough with the tea, geeze). Some people might think we’re like a boring old couple, and those people would be right. We are. Prune juice shots for everyone.

7. You Learn to Compromise 

Lol, not really guys. You always give in.



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Psst! Cupid or Cats is a finalist in the Most Humous category in the 2015 Bloggies. I don’t know how that happened either. If you would like to vote for me, you can click on the link below. It’s very simple and I would really appreciate it. If you’ve already voted, thank you so much. There’s a messenger pigeon on its way to you with your reward. Probably.

2015 Weblog Awards

The Reality of Living with Your Partner

‘Why do you seem incapable of picking up the towel after your shower?’ I bend down and grab a damp towel from the floor of our bathroom, wincing as a pain shoots up my spine. I feel angry. I bunch up the towel and fling it across the landing, feeling tears spring in my eyes. This is stupid I tell myself, frantically running the back of my hand across my face. It’s just a towel. …..even if you spent all of your day off meticulously cleaning the entire house. I’m tired. I’m tired and sore from a long day at work and I don’t want to be picking up towels for other people.
My boyfriend doesn’t respond. He is in his office, working hard on his doctoral thesis and probably tutting at my nagging. He is tired too. I notice that his clothes are strewn across the landing and I feel like screaming. My mind goes back ten years, to our first night living together.

We had just come from the Irish version of prom. We were moving into a small house in Cork city, with two other people, to attend university together. We lay on a tiny single bed, in a grotty room, giddy and in love. We had looked forward to this moment for two years. We had lived hundreds of kilometres apart and now, finally, we would never be apart again. My head lay on his chest, and I listened to his heart beat. It was slow. He played with my hair.
‘I love you.’
‘I love you too.’
It felt simple. It was simple.
‘What do you think this will be like?’ he asked.
‘Perfect,’ I answered, without needing to think about it. ‘It will be perfect.’

And for a while, it came pretty close. Even though we had separate rooms, we couldn’t stand spending a night apart. We went to college and we watched TV with our roommates in the evening. We were young and in love and that seemed to be enough.

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After a year, we moved to a different house, alone for the first time in our lives. Like any couple, we argued. We argued about who’s turn it was to do the dishes, who should make dinner and whether to turn the heating on or not (I get cold easily, Jack does not). Sometimes these arguments descended into bitter fighting. Although we have never once in our twelve years together gone to sleep while still arguing, we have had some terrible verbal fights that neither of us are proud of.

After living together for a few years, I felt disillusioned. This hadn’t been part of the plan. When did Belle or Snow White have to worry about rent or bills or whether their other halves picked up their underwear off the floor? Of course I knew that life isn’t a fairytale, but I didn’t realise just how monotonous and frustrating living with the supposed love of your life could become. And I hated myself for feeling like that. I knew I loved Jack. I knew someday I wanted to marry him. I also knew that not living with him would feel infinitely worse for me. But knowing all of this didn’t stop the arguments.

And we still argue. We still argue over the dishes, the dinner, the heating. Jack leaves his clothes and towels strewn about and I inevitably end up picking them up for him. I leave food lying about in the kitchen and he ends up putting it back in the cupboards. Some days, we get angry and frustrated with one another and we talk it out. We’ve become much better at communicating with one another without the need for pettiness or passive aggressiveness. I’ve come to accept that this is what a real relationship is like. Most days, we are wonderful together. We laugh, we give each other space, we are affectionate and considerate. Some days we argue. Some days, we are selfish and irritable. I’ve learned that this is normal. We argue because we care. When we stop arguing, we stop caring.

Living with someone is tough. That’s something you don’t learn from Disney movies or romance novels. You are allowing someone to see you in a way that nobody outside your immediate family ever really has. I have flaws; I can be demanding, I’m overly-sensitive and I’m needy. I can also be ridiculously irrational. *cough* Like when we fight and I tell him to get out and then two second later, I’m all:

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*cough*

Jack has seen and dealt with these unattractive qualities first-hand. He has been patient, loving and kind to me. Although we’re not perfect, we seem to be right for each other. We fit. I would take a million arguments if it means that I’m lucky enough to have found the right person. It’s not always a bed of roses, but when it is, it makes everything else worthwhile:

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So living with Jack has been challenging. There are some days where I honestly have wanted to scream at him until I’m hoarse. Then there are days when I’ve come home from work, dejected and stressed, and all that I’ve needed is a cuddle and a cup of tea. I don’t even need to ask and Jack will fetch me a blanket and a hot water bottle and order me to lie on the sofa. We have our challenges, but we face them together. We haven’t idealised the future; we know that it will be tough at times. We will have to work together and to make compromises. We will fight, and we will hurt each other, but we will always come back and say we’re sorry.

This post has been partly inspired by one of my favourite poems by the wonderful Adrienne Rich called Living in Sin. The poem deals with the reality of living with a partner, as opposed to the idealised version we are often presented with in fiction. Have a read:

She had thought the studio would keep itself;
no dust upon the furniture of love.
Half heresy, to wish the taps less vocal,
the panes relieved of grime. A plate of pears,
a piano with a Persian shawl, a cat
stalking the picturesque amusing mouse
had risen at his urging.
Not that at five each separate stair would writhe
under the milkman’s tramp; that morning light
so coldly would delineate the scraps
of last night’s cheese and three sepulchral bottles;
that on the kitchen shelf among the saucers
a pair of beetle-eyes would fix her own—
envoy from some village in the moldings . . .
Meanwhile, he, with a yawn,
sounded a dozen notes upon the keyboard,
declared it out of tune, shrugged at the mirror,
rubbed at his beard, went out for cigarettes;
while she, jeered by the minor demons,
pulled back the sheets and made the bed and found
a towel to dust the table-top,
and let the coffee-pot boil over on the stove.
By evening she was back in love again,
though not so wholly but throughout the night
she woke sometimes to feel the daylight coming
like a relentless milkman up the stairs.

If anyone has some tips on how not to murder your partner, leave them in the comments!

This is the kind of relationship we have…part deux

Yesterday, I bought myself a lot of some chocolate. Not just any chocolate mind you, Galaxy chocolate. Galaxy is so fancy and tasty that before I eat it, I pour it a glass of wine and light some candles. You can’t just scoff this chocolate, you have to be nice to it.

I decided to save it for Saturday night, where I was going to sit femininely cross legged and eat each square one by one, all sexy like. LOL, joke, this was totally the plan:

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Instead, something terrible happened. Now readers, I must prepare you. You won’t want to see chocolate like this but it’s necessary for my story. I got up in the morning and found my chocolate like this:

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Turns out, Jack had decided that it was far too much for one person and had taken half of it. I can’t describe the feeling of betrayal that swept through me. I decided to deal with the thievery in the only way I know how: sending Jack a barrage of angry owl memes.

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http://cheezburger.com/6426246400

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Naturally, I expected Jack to be terrified. You know, because…angry owls. Instead, he sent me this:

“This is what I’m imagining you doing right now Jane”:

Asshat.

My boyfriend is also weird

“Oh dear God, what’s that?!”

“Hmm?”

“Hon, there’s something…THERE’S SOMETHING CRAWLING ON MY FRICKIN’ AAAARRRM!”

“Eh?”

“THERE’S SOMETHING FLYING ABOVE MY HEEEAAADD!”

“It’s just a moth, Jane. I saw it before I turned off the light.”

“A moth? What if he, I don’t know, hatches eggs in my hair? Or falls into my mouth?”

“What if he hatches eggs? There’s so much wrong with that sentence I don’t know where to start.”

“I’m serious Jack. I won’t be able to
sleep now. What if he is crawling on the ceiling and falls on me? Eurgh, I can hear him flapping around the room.”

“Hey, you remember the moths they took out of the corpses in The Silence of the Lambs?

“Really Jack? REALLY? That’s what your going to talk about? Why aren’t you defending my honour against this blatant home invasion?”

“Just do what you do with the spiders.”

“Scream uncontrollably and run through the nearest window?”

“No. You give him a name to make him less scary.”

“Huh. That’s not a bad idea. But what do you call a moth?”

“You obviously call a moth Ti-MOTH-y. Timothy. Get it? Hahaha.
Man, I’m funny…Jane?….Jane?”

“Sorry, I’m kind of in awe of you right now.”

The Hard Times

It’s Christmas Day 2010. Jack and I are living in the home my mother grew up in. It is -10 degrees Celsius outside. My parents have just gone through the world’s worst breakup and it’s the first Christmas my family won’t be celebrating together. My dog of fourteen years has died. I’ve been diagnosed with epilepsy. A family member has been diagnosed with cancer. We’re both completely broke, and in debt, from college loans. We can’t afford heating so we’re wearing layers of clothing.

I have been having seizures. I can’t travel to see anyone because the roads are too icy. Jack and I couldn’t afford gifts for each other so we make each other breakfast: a single piece of toast and jam. We’ve been living on jam for weeks. We know we could reach out to our families for help, but we’re too proud. We are both snowed under with college assignments. I am training to be a teacher, and therefore have no time for a part time job. Jack is doing a full time PhD. The stress is having a huge effect on our relationship. We argue all day long.

And then, on Christmas Day 2010, our water froze. We had no water, all the shops were closed, and we had no way to travel for it. We couldn’t cook, clean or wash.

I don’t actually remember much of that day, but to say it was miserable is an understatement. I lay in bed that night, wearing mittens and my coat, and began to cry. Jack put his arms around me and just let me cry in silence.

After I had begun to calm a little bit, he kissed my forehead. It’s a truth universally acknowledged that this will calm any woman.

“We have each other.” His voice cut through the silence, the darkness, the cold air.

“We have each other.” He repeated it.

“We have each other.” He said it again and again, while I nuzzled my face into his shoulder, in an attempt to absorb some of his strength.

A year later, I had a job. Jack was able to get some work experience. Our lives improved hugely, as did our financial status. I will, however, never forget that dark day, feeling utterly hopeless and lost.

About a month ago, I was making a four hour drive to attend a party with my friends. A song came on the radio. I had heard the song before, but I’d never really listened to it because it’s not exactly my style of music.

Have you ever had a moment where you think “this song was written for me”? The words were so apt that tears began flowing down my face. I smiled through my tears, as I thought of our struggles and how we has stuck together threw those dog days.

Here is a link to the song, “For the First Time” by Irish band The Script.

And here are the lyrics:

“For The First Time”

She’s all laid up in bed with a broken heart,
While I’m drinking jack all alone in my local bar,
And we don’t know how,
How we got into this mad situation,
Only doing things out of frustration

Trying to make it work but man these times are hard,

She needs me now but I can’t seem to find the time,
I’ve got a new job now on the unemployment line,
And we don’t know how,
How we got into this mess
Is it a God’s test?
Someone help us ’cause we’re doing our best,

Trying to make it work but man these times are hard

But we’re gonna start by
Drinking old cheap bottles of wine,
[Clean version:] Sit talking up all night,
[Explicit version:] Shit talking up all night,
Saying things we haven’t for a while
A while, yeah,
We’re smiling but we’re close to tears,
Even after all these years,
We just now got the feeling that we’re meeting for the first time

[x3:]
Oooooo

She’s in line at the DOLE*
With her head held high (high)
While I just lost my job but
Didn’t lose my pride

But we both know how,
How we’re gonna make it work when it hurts,
When you pick yourself up,
You get kicked to the dirt,

Trying to make it work but,
Man, these times are hard,

But we’re gonna start by
Drinking old cheap bottles of wine,
[Clean version:] Sit talking up all night,
[Explicit version:] Shit talking up all night,
Doing things we haven’t for a while,
A while yeah,
We’re smiling but we’re close to tears,
Even after all these years,
We just now got the feeling that we’re meeting for the first time.

Ooooo
[x3]

Yeah…
Drinking old cheap bottles of wine,
[Clean version:] Sit talking up all night,
[Explicit version:] Shit talking up all night,
Saying things we haven’t for a while,
We’re smiling but we’re close to tears,
Even after all these years,
We just now got the feeling that we’re meeting for the first time

Ooooo,.. yeah, for the first time
Ooooo,.. oh, for the first time,
Yeah for the first time,
(Just now got the feeling that we’re meeting for the first time)

[x4]
Oh these times are hard,
Yeah, they’re making us crazy
Don’t give up on me baby

[* DOLE is the unemployment line in Ireland]

I think most people can relate to this great song. Thanks for reading 🙂

Eleven years with my boyfriend

On Sunday, Jack and I will be together eleven years. ELEVEN YEARS. That’s a whole Justin Bieber.

People often ask me “how do you do it?” and I say “well, it’s simple really. He just puts his thingy in my-” Oh, you mean how has our relationship lasted so long and neither of us has been murdered yet? Well, I guess there’s a number of reasons for that.

We get each other

Jack knows me like no one else. He knows that there’s no point talking to me in the morning because I can’t process anything beyond monosyllables. He knows that if an animal in a film dies I will mourn for it like I would a member of my family. He knows that I like plenty of milk in my tea and that I think octopuses are cool.

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We compromise

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We make fun of each other

If I fell over, I’m pretty sure Jack would point and laugh at me before he’d help me to get up. Nice.

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Aside: Look at the widdle fwuzzy kitty!

We have a lot in common

We both totally think that Steven Seagal would probably defeat Superman in a fight because Steven Seagal.

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We have fun

Sometimes we have dance offs to decide who makes the dinner.

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We take out our frustrations with each other on GTA V characters

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We have romantic nights in

Watching Cops and eating Doritos is romantic, right?

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So thank you Jack. Thank you for putting up with my ridiculous and zany ways. And for getting the cat.

Why Valentine’s Day isn’t Romantic

I know, I know. Writing an anti-Valentines Day post is about as original as telling a knock-knock joke in a pair of Uggs. I also realise that my blog title has the word ‘Cupid’ in it and that I often enthusiastically write about my relationship. You’d think I would be out on the street ringing a bell with an “I LOVE VALENTINE’S DAY” sandwich board.

But alas, Valentine’s Day is not for me. Besides the fact that it is a cynical corporate ploy, I find it wholly unnecessary. For me, it’s just another way for society to try and convince us how inadequate we are. It’s like there’s someone shouting “ROMANCE? YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG!” into our ears. We are constantly surrounded with propaganda that attempts to convince us we’re not sexy enough, romantic enough, wild enough or fun enough. Valentine’s is just another way for us to feel that we need to spend a certain amount of money on grand romantic gestures to somehow quantify our relationships.

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http://leftsrightswrongs.blogspot.com

It was a few days before Valentine’s last year when an excitable colleague of mine asked me, with all the enthusiasm of a girl in the early stages of a relationship, what I was getting my boyfriend of ten years for a gift.

“A giant teddy bear, but instead of a bear’s head, I’m going to put a model of my face,” I answered her, expecting her to deduce that I was joking. She stared blankly at me. “Alice, I’m kidding. I’m not getting him anything.”

This shocked her even more than my psychotic present idea.

“You can’t get him nothing,” she complained, “it’s VALENTINE’S DAY!”

Even though I knew Alice was just a hopeless romantic and there was no malicious intent in her questioning, I felt slightly irritated.

“Alice, we’ve been together for ten years. We love each other but we don’t need to buy each other gifts to show that.” I could tell by her face that she didn’t agree with me. So I told her about our first Valentine’s Day together.

I had been just sixteen years old. Jack and I had been together for about six months. I was young and naive and I genuinely believed that if I didn’t buy Jack the most amazing gift and have the most romantic day then it would spell disaster for the future of our relationship. Jack told me that he had gotten me “something special”. You might assume that this would have delighted me, but instead it added to my apprehension. If he had gotten me something so wonderful, then how could I possibly measure up? Men are almost impossible to shop for. I traipsed around shop after shop, with several friends in tow. “How about a teddy?” they would recommend, “or a watch? Book? Jersey? Cologne?”

“No, no, no, no, NO!” I would screech manically, “it has to be PERFECT!” The problem was, I didn’t realise that last minute gifts and nails bitten to the quick hardly constitute perfect.

I can’t say I enjoyed that Valentine’s Day. I spent most of it imagining various reactions to my terrible present (I think I went with aftershave):

“Are you implying that I SMELL?!”

“This aftershave smells like the inside of a Hippo’s colon!”

Etc, etc.

My point is that that day was ruined because of the pressure I put myself under. I confessed this to Jack a few weeks later. He was surprised.

“You really thought I would break up with you if you couldn’t find me a gift? Do you really think I’m with you so that once a year I’ll get a bottle of Hugo Boss? Do you think that that’s how I know you love me? From PRESENTS?!”

“Well, when you put it like that….” I admitted, feeling sheepish.

Since that fateful first Valentine’s, we have a rule: no presents. Instead, we cook a meal together. We chat, have fun while cooking and then eat it over candlelight and reminisce on the all the years we’ve been in each other’s lives. We decided that one day in the year shouldn’t be dedicated to making each other happy; that should happen as often as possible. Sure, not everyday can be Valentine’s, but shouldn’t the supposedly selfless and romantic spirit of that day be present in a relationship more than just one day a year?

There are times when Jack and I argue of course (tomatoes ARE fruit, damn it!) but when I look back in years to come at my favourite memories with him, it won’t be those I remember. It also won’t be any grand romantic gestures. It will be the days when I came home from work and Jack had warmed my slippers by the fire and had a cup of tea waiting for me. For me, and I know for many others, it’s the little things that count.

So if you happen to be nervously perusing shops looking for that perfect Valentine’s gift, relax. Take it from me, expensive gifts don’t equal romance. In the long term, this realisation will benefit any relationship. Or destroy it, whatever.