It was the day I dread every year and it was approaching fast. I could already predict how it would go. The shitty E-card form my dad, the wall of wishes from Facebook 'friends' ordering me to 'have a great day!', and the inevitable tears which catch up with me sooner or later. Maybe I'm being ungrateful but I fucking hate my birthday.
Why? I don't know. I didn't mind getting older, was happy with where I was and had a boyfriend who was a massive arseclown but who I loved. Then why was there this horrible feeling that kept me up until 3am, like the electricity before a storm all staticy in my stomach?
This post wasn't supposed to be about my birthday, but that was where it all started.
I've always been a fan of the whole soulmates notion, the idea that you love someone unconditionally, faults and all. I loved my mother even though she never quite got the hang of empathy. I loved my father, in a way, even though he never quite got the hang of...anything really.
I loved the idea of E being my soulmate, I loved the idea unconditionally but I can pinpoint the moment my love for E wavered. It was the moment he bought me a fridge.
I don't know what I was expecting to be inside the massive gold foiled box. Actually I was hoping for surround sound to go with my new TV. As I opened it, I felt the smile plaster on my face. It was still in its cardboard Curry's box.... I'de vaguely hoped it was at least funky looking and preferably pink... but no, it was a big square white fridge.
"For your room!" He said, proudly. "Now we can keep snacks and drink in it."
Translation- now he didn't have to run down two flights of stairs to get a beer.
"Here, I got you this too." He produced a plastic bag. Inside was a kettle.
"Wooooow!" My voice went up at the end and the back of my throat constricted. I could already feel the tears coming. It wasn't bad enough that I'd put up with his bad mood, and the day of riding a smelly horse, or the fact that it was 4pm and I was hungry and SOBER. I could even tolerate the fact that he'd avoided introducing me to his racist Jew hating father by simply ditching me in his parental kitchen while he went off to print a fax, leaving me to make my own introductions.
"How do you do?" Mr. E asked me, surveying me with his ice cold eyes.
I shook his hand and wondered if he only knew there was a Jew in his presence, and if he did, how long before he'd scrub his wrinkly fingers raw.
I was mad at E for leaving me to fend for myself, mad at him for ruining my birthday but more than all of this I was mad at him for buying me that Fridge.
My love, (much like the return policy on that blasted Fridge) came with terms and conditions.
So, in a relationship, can love ever be unconditional?
It's the love story of our generation. Our Pride & Predjudice and the unlikely tale that has teenage girls deceived about the reality of Love. Let's consider Stephanie Meyer's words. Unconditionally and Irrevocably. If I loved my Edward (I'll drop the code.. his name's Ed. He never reads my blog anyway) the way Bella loved HER Edward, I'd have made a little home for that fridge in my bed, curled up with it and whispered sweet cold nothings in its icy ear. Oh Edward, what a beautiful reminder of how cold you are. What a lovely domestic gesture. Is that the sound of a lullaby? A lullaby just for me? Or is that just a dull annoying buzzing sound that will irritate me for the rest of time?
After three nights of fridge puns and hysterical laughter (it was better than crying right?) E had had enough. He needed space. He needed time to consider us.
A week later, we were over.
The truth was, that the fridge wasn't a dealbreaker. Maybe I'd loved him more than I knew, or maybe I was an idiot. I'd hated that god damned fridge but that wasn't the end for me. Him walking away, was.
My love had one condition - that his would have none.
Maybe that kind of unconditional love doesn't exist outside of children's books and movies, but I won't settle for anything less. So, here it begins again, and maybe next time, it will be the real thing
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