The conditions under which my boyfriend and I moved in together were simple. Cheaper rent, reduced travel, and ultimately, he would be the human barrier that would save me if anything remotely dangerous happened in the dead of the night.
Around 3:30 am last night, a fire drill went off in the midst of my deepest slumbers. Unbeknownst to me, the jackasses who live on the floor above us engaged in a little snow storm marijuana toking session, and basically masked the entire top floor with a cloud of smoke.
The roommate looks at me after hearing how obnoxiously loud the fire alarm is and says, “Close the bedroom door.”
To which I replied, “Uhh, no, I think we need to evacuate.”
After frantically throwing on as many blizzard fighting layers of clothing and waiting outside for around twenty minutes, we were allowed back in the building. But only now have I realized that my roommate was not delivering on one of the main promises made when we decided to cohabitate. Something remotely dangerous happened in the middle of the night, and he was not being a good human barrier.
(I realize this is all based upon waking up mid-slumber, and under different circumstances, he probably would have had a clearer head.)
Which brings me to my next point. Along with safety and security, there are certain unwritten rules that boyfriends have to follow.
All gender roles, feminism, sexism, and all that other politically correct mumbo jumbo aside, of course. I see you, strong, independent women who don’t need no man to feel worthy. #Respect
Here are the unwritten rules you need to follow in order to be a successful boyfriend/good human:
Hold my things: When you decide you are going to date a girl, you unofficially sign up to hold all her belongings when she doesn’t want to carry a purse. Credit card, money, and ID will now go in your wallet and her keys in your pockets, because her outfit is way more important without a bulky bag, and you have like forty-six places to hold things anyways.
Let me wear your stuff: Clothes are always more comfortable when they’re not yours. Sweatshirts that are four sizes too big definitely seem to fit better, and men’s sweatpants are what dreams are made of. And hats. Always hats.
Don’t get mad when I eat your food: I know this is like, totally, illegal in like fifteen countries, and frowned upon everywhere else, but if I want a bite of your food, you need to give it to me. I know I ordered what I wanted, and you ordered what you wanted, but that’s why we didn’t order the same thing and I’d rather not have FOMO.
Listen to my stories: Everyone in the history of earth knows that women are horrendous story tellers. But you’re going to have to listen to every single one of them. The office drama, that kid on the subway, the one about how long the line was at Forever 21 on New Year’s Eve. They’re going to suck, they’re not going to be funny, and they probably won’t make sense. And I’m sorry I’m not sorry for that.
Give me directions: I think I speak solely for myself with this one, but I’m going to generalize to everyone anyways. You need to be prepared to tell me where I’m going and give me proper notice of when I’m supposed to turn left, right, etc. Google maps can steer me wrong, you can’t.
Make good choices under pressure: Like, you know, if there’s a fire drill in the middle of the night. You should tell me to get my shit together and haul ass down the stairs instead of just ignoring it and trying to fall back asleep. It’s these life or death situations that make or break a relationship. Mostly because if we burned alive no one would be in the relationship anymore, because we’d both be dead.
Crack my back: What’s the point of having someone double your weight that can lift you up, crack your back, and realign your spine with one strong, upward grab? That’s not a trick question. There’s actually no other point than to have them lift you up, crack your back, and realign your spine with one, strong upward grab.