why I am still with the boyfriend:
- He is damn good driver
That might sound utterly shallow but hell, it’s quite fun being his passenger. He likes to pretend that the tiny Hyundai Getz he is driving is some turbo-charged Ferrari but (un)fortunately, it’s just a 1.3l car. I used to think he was darn sexy while driving his manual Honda Civic (SIR somemore, don’t play play) but that’s a thing of the past. Too bad.
- He makes me laugh
Every month, I morph into a flesh-eating bitch from hell due to the fact that hormones are wrecking havoc in my brains. I sob for no rhyme and rhythm, bite people’s heads off and ingest large amounts of chocolate. He has this ability to then piss me off (with no real effort) and subsequently coaxing giggles out of me. I just tell him that I am currently in the midst of the three singularly most powerful alphabets – PMS – and he understands immediately. A mark of a well-educated man.
- He goes shopping with me
Unlike other useless men who just hang around obstructing traffic, he’s actually helpful and tries to pick out stuff for me. And I must add, his taste is not too bad, I have actually purchased clothes that he suggested I try before. In addition, he does not mind carrying my bags for me and is not in the least grumpy at being in Mango for the 10000th time in one week. And in return, I spare him the horrors of ploughing through the sale racks of Mango with me.
- He does not act his age
That is both good and bad. It’s good since we have a relatively large age gap between us and he doesn’t mind indulging in extremely childish activities with me. It’s bad because it means that he has this affinity with computer games. He acts like my seven-year-old nephew when he is playing on the Xbox. He (the boyfriend, not the child) likes to sprawl all over the floor, with that weird-looking contraption that calls itself a headset on his, err, head. He enjoys pretending that he is invincible and likes splattering people to death. He then proceeds to get really mad, childishly, I might add, when actual little boys annoy the socks off him or when he loses. Tsk.
- He’s my punching bag
No further explanation needed
So to the 30-year-old who thinks he is still 20 with a whole head of hair, happy 5th anniversary.