This post may cause testicular damage

Posted on September 9, 2006


Today is M and I’s one year anniversary. Anniversary of what exactly, you might ask? We don’t quite know, actually. We had a convoluted conversation trying to pin down an exact date from which to date our relationship, and in the end just chose the 9th of September, having consulted the blog and various emails in our rudimentary version of carbon dating. Once we had the basic week down we argued over whether we should date it from the first time he thought we were dating, or the first time I thought we were dating, or the first time we went out, or the first time we stayed in. We also figured it was more likely that we did any of the above on a weekend, and that was how we happened on the 9th of September, 2005, as the Day We Started Going Out (For Reals).

M: Right, OK, so it’s the 9th then.
Me: That’s….today, actually.
M: So…happy anniversary?
Me: Yep. Happy anniversary to you too, babe.

It’s really us to have to designate an anniversary date. You’d think that I, as a girl, would have noted some shit down, or saved the coffee cup he bought me or some other Friends-type business. And if you knew him you’d for sure have thought that he had it all filed away neatly in his head, colour-coded and indexed, but no. Together we form one gloriously unromantic entity.

OK, to be fair to him, he does remember the date we actually met. He’s actually a massively mushy guy, numerous daily gym-goings notwithstanding. To wit: he has designed a Bingo game based on the joys of being with me. And I’m going to force this gag-worthy shit on you, just because I can. Basically, people who are hanging out with me are supposed to fill in the squares based on whether their contents take place during the course of the day. The poor boy thinks I am bubbling with idiosyncrasies, when actually I am just pretty Egyptian. He will be spinning like a top when he gets here and sees the ten thousand other chicks that are just like me. But here it is:






An episode of Friends is pertinent to goings-on.

“What do you have in terms of offal?”

S demands tighter pants of M.

S makes a mental note for future blogging.

A chick-lit paperback falls from S’s purse.

S deduces that a random passer-by is Egyptian. (Impressive in Canada only).

A lemon slice is requested.

S makes a point by gesturing emphatically with her right index finger.

A taxi driver asks overly personal questions of S.

S has a conversation in Arabic on her cellphone. (Notable in Canada only).

A waiter or other service provider stares at S’s cleavage.

Somehow, we end up in a sketchy establishment in a questionable area of town.


A purse with embroidered designs is displayed.

Clothing is procured at extraordinarily low prices.

Grilled meats are consumed in surprising quantity.

Down with Israel and/or America!

Additional tomato slices are required.

S looks hungrily at an unsuspecting pigeon.

A pooing-related problem arises.

“It would be really nice if one of us had a car right
about now”.

S complains about the cold (Canada only).

A purse with sequins is displayed.

One of S’s earrings falls onto the table.

A stray boob is adjusted.

The poor deluded man, am I right? As if every Egyptian chick does not say or do all of the above every day of her life. Well, except for the poo. And OK, it would have to be a rather flamboyantly dressed Egyptian chick…but so many of us are! I would also state that I would never say anything as crass and simplistic as ‘Down with Israel and/or America’. It’s really not fair of him to say that I do, as he’s never heard me make any such remark, not even indirectly.

So that bit was for the mushy-minded amongst you. I would like to draw the attention of the ridiculous-minded amongst you to the following situation, also concerning M. He is presently living with his parents until he leaves for Cairo and so he has no privacy in which to talk to me. Therefore, when we end our conversations, this sort of thing occurs:

Me: Ok then, I love you!
M: Um…and I, you. That. Also.
Me: Actually, I might love you more than usual today.
M: My feelings are at the same pre-existing level regarding you.


Me: I love you, babe.
M: That reflects my feelings also.

I’m not even really an “I love you” phone call-ending person, but his answers are just too funny to pass up. I find it adorable that “me, too” is not a phrase that would cross his mind.

OK, that bit turned out pretty damn syrupy too. Sorry. Especially to M, who will be mortified by this post.