Apple Pie

Today's blog is inspired by two of my friends who recently broke up with their boyfriends. Advertising messy breakups publicly in a blog to be read by all netizens is the best way to cement a friendship, btw, if you didn't know already. Okay, so perhaps a grand total of 10 people read this blog regularly, but still...

This blog also contains gross generalisations about almost everything, including, but not limited to, male behavior, female behavior, and sex. The author asks, cordially, that readers, especially of the male persuasion, to take this lightly and resist the urge to write rude things about her. Thank you very much. Onwards.

Lately, a number of people close to me have witnessed the end of some pretty serious relationships. After spending much precious time listening to them snivel and sob and blubber their hearts out, I've decided to waste more time by writing this mildly entertaining but ultimately useless piece of junk. Let's start, shall we?

There comes a time in every relationship when a woman needs to assess the whole couple thing and decide whether or not to up the commitment quotient and take the next big step in terms of the evolution of the relationship: moving in together.

Now that may seem like a fairly simple question to answer, but it's actually made up of a few annoying parts. I love him, check. He loves me, check. I want to have sex on a regular basis without having to return to my own house for fresh knickers, check. Does he? Check. Split the rent, the bills, the food? Check check and check.

However, one question remains unanswered. The question that will never occur to most people, the question that will either make or break the fledgling relationship.

Is he house-trained?

Yup, this may seem totally irrelevant and insignificant, but trust me, two couples have recently gone on their separate ways precisely because of this trivial issue, and I'm not talking about the toilet-seat.

Every woman must be doubly sure of her mate's ability to keep himself and his surrounding area clean, say, within a radius of 20 feet. Also, every woman must make sure that her and her mate's definition of clean is on roughly the same highway. It would also be nice if he could actually fit the toilet roll onto the toilet roll holder instead of just lobbing it on top of the water tank cover, but sometimes that's asking too much. Personally, I'd settle for not leaving shirts/shorts/pants/other articles of clothing on the floor where he took them off. (reference: bro and dad)

Some may be asking, why do all this? What is the point of talking about house-training when I can suck her face off in the backseat of my car? Because, dear readers, if he ranks lower on the Darwinian level of cleanliness, the relationship will be a chore once the romance and passion fizzles. Then, you'll start seeing the slimy fungi, the month-old beer stains, the horrifyingly humongous dust balls, and you'll want to sock him over the head with a baseball bat when he tells you that he bought the green shower curtain to match the mold on the tiles.

And the whole point of this article is to hopefully stop people from breaking up over trivial reasons like...leaving mugs by the sink for so long that strange organisms have grown in the leftover milk and sprouted something that looks disturbingly similar to legs.