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ArJewTino

“Latins are tenderly enthusiastic. In Brazil, they throw flowers at you. In Argentina, they throw themselves." -- Marlene Dietrich

The Princess responds to The REAL Rules

We’ve been living together for about a month now, and the rough patches seem to be over. But let me give you MY version of The Rules.

1. Cleaning is never finished.

Ok, does this mean there is always something to clean? Well, yes. But it doesn’t mean that I always do the cleaning, or that I think Piggicito (AKA Arjewtino) should do the cleaning, either.

The two of us have a real knack for making a disaster area out of a perfectly clean space, and our apartment had recently been a disgusting mess for a few weeks. I didn’t unpack from California for a week, and I regularly undress in the living room and leave my clothes there for several days. And don’t even get me started on what the Mini Office looks like when I’m doing homework. But here’s the thing: When you start cleaning, there is always something more to clean! I’m sorry, babe, but cleaning up part of the living room and leaving the dishes, the trash, the clothes, etc, in other parts of the apartment is NOT cleaning up! Mop the damn floors! Vacuum the freaking living room! Take my dishes to the kitchen when you take your own! Take out the trash without me asking you to!

2. Yes, you do have to tell me when you’re going out.

I don’t need to know details. I trust that you’re not going out and doing something totally stupid or illegal (because I would kill you if you were!), but I do want to know when you’re doing something. I’d like to know so I can make my own plans, and so I don’t worry that you’re dead in a ditch somewhere (Do they have ditches in the city? Hmmm...). I’m not your roommate, I’m your girlfriend, and we are in a relationship. We are so much in a relationship that we actually live together and have bought furniture together. Let me know what’s happening—I’d do the same for you.

3. I’m not your personal chef.

I like cooking, I really do, but please: cook something for me once in a while without me forcing you to. I don’t mean help me out in the kitchen. I mean all by yourself, surprise me and make me dinner. Look through a cookbook and pick out a nice, yummy vegetarian meal. Buying Chinese or pizza doesn’t count.

4. Quality time can be anything, but TV doesn’t always count.

I like when we do crossword puzzles together. I enjoy walking together to the farmer’s market on Sunday. I love when we travel together. I even think UNO is fun when we play it together (and I beat your ass!). And sitting in front of the TV can be fun sometimes, but not always. If we’re just staring mindlessly at the screen because we’re bored out of our minds? Not quality time. If we’re watching Grey’s Anatomy—which you love, admit it—and discussing if Izzy could have been certified insane when she CUT DENNY’S HEART THINGIE AND DOOMED HIM TO DEATH? That, my friend, is quality time.

P.S. Poor, dead Denny!

5. Sports are boring.

I hesitate to write this because it is so Stereotypical Woman, but really and truly, sports bore me to tears. My feelings about sports are as follows: No. I know there are women out there who would strongly disagree and bash me over the head with a lacrosse stick, or deliver a treatise on the merits of the pigskin. Don’t care! I don’t want to hear about the Dodgers and I really don’t want to hear about the Redskins. For your sake, I want to be interested in sports stats, but I can’t. I’m sorry. I will accept soccer, even on TV, as long as there aren’t too many dives. Dives ruin it for me and annoy me. I will sometimes go to a Nationals game, but that is where I draw the line. Love will only take me to so many stadiums.
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