Nothing keeps a relationship on its toes so much as lively debate. Fortunate, then, that my girlfriend and I agree on absolutely nothing. At all.
Combine utter, polar disagreement on everything, ever, with the fact that I am a text-book Only Child, and she is a violent psychopath, and we’re warming up. Then factor in my being English while she is German, which not only makes each one of us personally and absolutely responsible for the history, and the social and cultural mores of our respective countries, but also opens up a whole field of sub-arguments grounded in grammatical and semantic disputes and, well, just try saying anything and walking away.
Examples? Okey-dokey. We have argued about:
- The way one should cut a Kiwi Fruit in half (along its length or across the middle).
- Leaving the kitchen door open (three times a day that one, minimum).
- The best way to hang up washing.
- Those little toothpaste speckles you make when you brush your teeth in front of the mirror.
- I eat two-fingered Kit-Kats like I’d eat any other chocolate bars of that size, i.e., without feeling the need to snap them into two individual fingers first. Margret accused me of doing this, ‘deliberately to annoy her’.
- Which way – the distances were identical – to drive round a circular bypass (this resulted in her kicking me in the head from the back seat as I drove along).
- Which type of iron to buy (price wasn’t an issue, it was the principle, damnit).
- Margret enters the room. The television is showing Baywatch. Margret says, ‘Uh-huh, you’re watching Baywatch again.’ I say, ‘I’m not watching, it’s just on.’ Repeat. For the duration of the programme.
- She wants to paint the living room yellow. I have not the words.
More more here. [Thanks to Asad Raza.]