Arguing our way through love
My boyfriend and I are newcomers to love.
OPINION: Love is the easy bit. But relationships? Why did no- one tell me things weren't always easy?
We've given real arguments a jolly good nudge but thankfully that era is over and we are able to focus on the really important debates.
Most recently I flew to Palmerston North and we did a road trip back home to Christchurch.
Here are the top 10 arguments of the journey.
"Do you have any tissues?" I ask. I ask this because it is chilly in the Palmerston North morning and I must deal with a ticklish nasal drip.
"No," he says.
And you'd think that would be the end of it. I could give my nose a discreet and ladylike wipe on the sleeve, perhaps whilst pretending to point at something and no-one would be the wiser.
But no. I am not allowed to wipe my nose on my sleeve. I wipe my sleeve on my nose instead. Nobody wins.
He refuses to watch a science display. I am bored in a cafe and try to engage him in the cycle of pupil dilation in a normal adult female by looking into the sun and then at him. He shakes his head and looks back at his scrambled eggs. Nobody wins.
The following four arguments are based solely on the fact he has a new car. I try to discover all the fancy things the car does by wildly stabbing at buttons. Each press of a button drives his voice up an octave and triggers the cry: "Could you just look in the manual?"
I develop a Pavlov's dog response to the word "manual". Nobody wins.
Placing a crumb in his new car. Crumbs have no place in a new car. He wins.
Not believing I am an extremely good navigator. If you ask someone to set the GPS man to talk, then yelling "which way now?" over the top of the GPS man is no good to anyone. In the end, only the GPS man can win.
Whether or not I actually know what the "treble" is when fine-tuning a car audio system. Somewhere near Waikanae, I decide the treble is not set properly and begin another round of button-pressing. With the question "What is the treble?" hanging in the air, we realise neither of us can explain it. Nobody wins.
Who is going to save who if the ferry sinks. I spot a bit of rust on the ferry and try to reassure him he will be safe if we sink because I will save him. He wants to save me. I argue this is just a masculine construct and I will save him. Pleasingly, this turns out to be a moot point but for the record, let's just say it would be me. It would definitely be me. I win.
Sea mist or fog? As we drive south towards Kaikoura a picturesque haze floats in the air. He wants to drive through the fog.I believe it to be sea mist. We debate the point. For 20 minutes. It disappears by the time we get there. The atmosphere wins.
Indisputably his biggest failing is having absolutely no knowledge of his own metabolism which means he gets hungry. Suddenly. Which means a plan is legislated whereby I have to cover the left hand side of a small town looking for an Asian restaurant while he searches the right. On suspicion my eyes have drifted, I hear the command: "EYES, EYES!". There is no Asian eatery. Nobody wins.
Why I am keeping secret notes following certain discussions. I think that's quite apparent now. I win.
- The Press