Those of you who deign to read this blog regularly will know that I am a terrible combination of both idealistic, Jane Austen-style dreamer and complicated, risk-avoiding control freak – neither of which could destine a person towards any kind of romantic harmony.
And so, having recently moved house, I decided it was time to deal with this situation too; effectively doing the right thing by both parties and having the dreaded ‘talk’.
My boyfriend, true to form, rolled his eyes and appeared to listen to about half what I said.
He has grinned and rolled his eyes at my need to control and plan everything; I have indulged his obsessions with both Real Madrid and the English monarchy and learned to speak Spanish with around half the letters.
But, of course, we sometimes choose people who are like ourselves (much less risky) and while every day, I fall a little more in love with my life in Bogotá, he cannot wait for the chance to ‘escape’ Colombia and lose himself among the millions of Latinos chasing their dreams further afield (if he doesn’t end up in New York, it will no doubt be Paris) In short, I’m a reformed wanderer dating a would-be one, a relationship that was doomed before it had even begun.
He then began to fuss about the problems I am having with the services in my new house.
Later, he asked where we were going for dinner and has since organised both a night at the pub with his friends (which firmly included me) and pressed me as to when we would be seeing the new exhibition at the National Museum. ” While I would never want to “be rid” of my boyfriend – he is so instantly lovable even homeless people are warmed by the approach of his mega-watt smile – I hope my impending trip to England might provide us with some healthy distance.