Texts, date nights, strip clubs, and other shit I find stupid
“You can tell the size of a man by the size of the things that bother him.”
And here’s a bunch of shit that’s far too small to squabble over:
Who pays on a first date
omg, I literally do not give a fuck. I will sooner pick it up myself than have this conversation or quibble over $27.
If you’re fine going Dutch on later dates (and you should be, because #whatyearisit?), then what is the deal with putting on all kinds of airs for the first one? Do you also have good-luck first-date panties? If so, try putting on your big-girl ones instead. And let’s all move the fuck on already.
Who pays for all the dates thereafter
(I actually just hate debating who pays for food and drink.)
How often we see each other
I dated a guy for five years that I only saw a few days a week, because we both traveled almost full time for work. I have lived with dudes I saw daily, and I have been long-distance and gone months in between. I can make it work either way.
How often you text
How often you compliment me
See above. (Get it together, people.)
Where we go — or don’t go
Okay, we won’t go to that coffee place I like but you hate. We’ll eat Mexican a few times a month, even though I hate it, because it’s your fave. (And then you’ll do the same for me and we will actually end up going to that coffee place I like but you hate. Because we let it be just about coffee and not about ego.)
I’m more of a “just grab a beer” girl and totally content doing what looks to many like “nothing”, but I’m also down to try most anything once. We can hike or just watch movies. Do art galleries or pub crawls or stay in and read. Concerts for your type of music, rally races, the aquarium. I’ll go to at least one game with you and may even root for you team.
omg, I don’t care. The best “boyfriend” I ever had never called himself my boyfriend, and actions speak louder than words any way.
While in a relationship
How the toilet seat is left
Because I’ve learned that leaving it up after peeing is eons better than leaving it down to pee.
All my boyfriends can thank my brother for this.
How the toothpaste is left
I never squeezed from the middle or left the cap off, but I also didn’t do a meticulous roll and close the cap the last 1% — until the current dude pointed it out to me. So, no big deal, now I do. He also has a certain way he likes the soap bar left and, guess what, I do that too.
I can’t believe how many people fight about chores — chores!
Guys, chores are one of those things that just sort of have to happen in life. They’re not the end-all, be-all of anything, and they definitely should not occupy any serious headspace.
Fighting about chores is as dumb as fighting about how you write your 7’s or what order you put on your socks (and I’m sure people do those, too.)
I will sooner do all of the cleaning than divvy up chores like we’re 8 — I mean, I’d be doing it all myself if I lived on my own anyway, and getting a break on chores isn’t why I live with someone. I outright refuse to spend time discussing it.
Two people never have exactly the same standards. So to one person, the other will always be a slob. To the slob, the other will be a control freak.
I am “the slob” in my current relationship. I have previously been “the clean one.” But either way, I’ll sooner “clean up after you” or clean the way you like than spend time arguing in defense of my personal preferences.
How often you see people — my friends, your friends, either of our families
After the obligatory meet and greet, and occasional holiday hello.
You wanna power-hour it out with the boys, go for it. Need a week with your fam each Christmas? Be my guest. Bowing out of drinks with my friends? Whatevs; do what you want.
What you eat
I’m not your mommy. You are you own person, and if I wouldn’t want you policing my diet, and I’m not going to go around policing yours.
Same goes for how often you work out, what time you go to bed, how much you drink. I mean, don’t get ridiculous with it (nobody wants an obese alcoholic), but other than that: you do you.
Home decor and household essentials
I tend to date people with the same aesthetic (minimal) but the execution still varies by person, and that’s fine.
You want the pine bed frame? We’ll get the pine bed frame. You want a coffee table? Sure. That horrific piece of art that you think is awesome? Hang it on up!
I’ve had “comfy” sink-hole couches and I’ve had stiff, austere ones. Ugly rugs, small rugs, old rugs, no rugs. Throw blankets I didn’t know how to wash. Numerous high-top tables no good for writing. It’s all grand.
And if I don’t care about furniture, you can imagine how much I care about toilet paper brands.
One of the best parts about not being married is that your money is your money, and my money is mine. Not only does it make zero difference to me what you spend yours on, but it is also pretty much none of my business.
Either I have been gaslighted in every relationship (which tbh is possible) or I don’t remember things. And it’s probably more that I don’t remember things, because frankly I don’t really care to.
I don’t give a fuck what time, exactly, we got home last Thursday, or whether it was blueberry or blackberry pie last Fourth of July. Sure, we were driving, not walking, and, sure, it was me and not you who last opened this drawer. Because I don’t care either way — and I know I’ve had entire conversations that I later erase.
So I may lay out a memory because that’s the reference I have, but the minute anyone is like “that’s not what happened,” I’m just like “aiight, fine.” Let’s move on.
And same goes for you if you forget the milk or that conversation I know for a fact we just had. We’re all human.
I’m not hard to please here — a few times a week and you get me off, perfect.
More? Cool. Less? …I guess. That thing you do that I like, just icing on the cake. That thing you like, sure thing.
I’m not here to be wined and dined. You forgot our anniversary? I didn’t even know we had one.
Porn and strip clubs
First of all, I watch porn, too. Secondly, as long as I’m still getting what I want and need from you sexually, I don’t care what else you do.
Because, most importantly: I am not competing with porn stars or strippers. Women who feel threatened by fantasies have a self-esteem problem they should address.
You eating the last donut
Or those leftovers I was totally saving. Or stealing a fry from my plate.
I’ve heard people consider these deal-breakers, and tbh I’m astounded they’d break it off over bagels or bánh mì.
Like, ain’t no food worth more than a partner. (The fuck is the matter with you people?)
I’d give you all of my leftovers and all my best fries and all of the last donuts forever. If the contents of a styrofoam box ensures I get what I want, then here, darling, let me heat it back up for you, too!
Because this shit is all the easy part in love — and life. And I am literally happy to let it slide, because doing so allows us both to focus on the bigger shit.
It’s not that I’m a push-over or passive (anybody’s who knows me would probably laugh at that suggestion.) On the contrary, it’s that my ego isn’t tied up in the toothpaste and toilet lid. I can let shit slide because doing so doesn’t have to be about me — my sense of self is stronger than strip clubs and texts, and my self esteem doesn’t rely on winning this shit.