"Are you going to say that I'm good in bed?" Jaime

I don't like romance. I think it's cheesy and stupid, and I hate it, and I won't do it. I won't read the books written at a fourth grade reading level, and I won't watch the films that I know will make me want to pick my brain out through my nose with a crochet hook.

Cool if you do, though.

Therefore, I think it's hysterical that my real life is now a poorly written cringeworthy cliché of a rom com that sometimes makes me miss the comforting days of assuming that I would die in my room in the spinster wing of the home with my cats that I would never have because I hate cats.

Jaime, my partner, is many men and women's dream according to popular culture.

So, let's break my boyfriend down into each banal detail, and I'll try to convince you that it's somehow different for me because I'm just not like that, shall we?

1. Tall, Dark & Handsome

Few people would argue that Jaime isn't tall (6'3"), dark (he thinks he has got like some Moorish blood or something) or handsome (I'm not calling you a liar if you don't, but I'm saying that you're lying). In the past, I was all over tall, dark and ugly. If you don't look like you say mean things to your mom, were in a horrible nuclear plant accident and/or inspire copy cat murders, move along Jack. Jaime, on the other hand, is a universally perfect specimen. When I catch women checking him out, they avert their eyes in shame, but when I catch men checking him out, we duck face, wink and shoot each other with our finger guns. It's called respect.

2. The Meet Cute

Our meet cute was super cute. On New Year's Eve, I was getting ready to go out but took some time away from my actual friends to scroll through my newsfeed to see what my fake friends were up to. One of my fake friends, Jaime (we were Facebook friends before we'd ever met because the world is so effed up like that), posted a cool song, so I liked it because I'm cool, so he messaged me, and was like, "Are you in Barcelona tonight?" so obviously I was like, OMG, OMG, OMG, he's hot and gave him my phone number in case he wanted to meet up later or something, but then, I went to a predominately gay party, so I didn't find anyone to get over my recent tall, dark and ugly man with, so I sent him a text that said, "Do you want to have sex?", and he replied, "Yes." It's okay to cry.

3. He's a Doctor

When he told me that he was working on his PhD, I felt bad for him assuming that he didn't know what that meant and that he probably thought it stood for physical dudeness. However, it's true. His beauty doesn't eat his brain like was once thought, but there's more...both of his parents as well as his brother are doctors. I learned this while he was away in Australia (we'll get to that) because he told me that if I ever got pregnant, his father could help me out because he's a gynaecologist, or I could go to his brother because he's a gynaecologist as well. It was a non sequitur. 

4. He's Foreign

My boyfriend is Spanish, but he speaks English with a perfect Irish accent. It's as strange and awesome as it sounds. When I first heard him speak Spanish, I freaked out and thought he was an imposter because even though I knew he was from Valencia, he is the least Spanishy Spaniard I've ever met. He doesn't tell people that he went to an English school when he was young and spent his summers with a family in Ireland because he doesn't know how to pick up on social clues. So, when I recognize the look of panic on a Spanish or native Enlgish speaker person's face after they compliment "Jay-me's" Castilian or Catalan, it's left to me to explain why he's better than everyone else.

5. He's Freakishly Strong

Some of you have asked if he's a member of the Avengers. He's not but thank you. We did just discover that he can open a wine bottle by pushing in the cork with his index finger, though.

The list of stupid stereotypical ideals continues:

• The day after we met, he went to Australia and South East Asia for three months to surf.
• He plays the ukulele and sings well. 
• He and his dog have matching sweaters. 
• He makes paella for our friends. 
• He's a Sensitive Sally.
• He played rugby.
• He wants to cuddle constantly (I hate cuddling).
• He paints or runs for two hours when he's emotional...

I feel guilty because I never needed any of that, but I know plenty of people who think they do. He's the stuff Stephen Meyers or Elle Jamison envision when they write about their sparkle vampires and their domestic abusers. I'll accept him as he is, though, because I love him, and I knew that the moment he let his limbs go limp and floppy as he bounded down the stairs of the cathedral overlooking Barcelona like a complete idiot.

Or it was when he told me that Cher's voice gave him goosebumps in a good way. I don't really remember. 

Shut your mouth.