I have been living with my boyfriend for about two years now and I’m perfectly happy with that. Well, as happy as a girl can be of course because admittedly we’re not easy to live with. I will never negotiate the fact that girls are more difficult than boys because come on gals, it is true! When I am in a bad mood, I can make everything into an issue. For example he can make me a lovely dinner and I can adore him for at least an hour before going on and on about the fact that he didn’t wash the dishes afterwards like he promised. Or he can clean the floors as a sweet gesture but my OCD-side will probably come up and I’ll start noticing the parts of the floors that are NOT so clean: ‘Seriously, you didn’t move over our complete shower to catch that spot of dust that obviously is right in your face?!’ When I’m in a good mood however, I try to be the best girlfriend that I can be: I bring little gifts, make surprise breakfasts, talk about motorcycles (although the only thing I can safely say about them is which color I prefer), cuddle up in the couch and watch some documentary about Doom Preppers on National Geographic,… But I never really think about how much I enjoy all this… Until that dreadful time that is now. The incredibly looooooooong 12 days that he ‘leaves the nest’ and goes out on his own, the time where he becomes a man, the time where he goes out and rules the world. Okay fine, I’m overreacting. He simply goes to camp with his boy scouts every year and spends those twelve days in a town that consists out of trees, two horses and maybe a farm with a one-legged owner. There is no cell phone reception and even the pigeons who are suppose to deliver the letters think to themselves ‘fuck that, I’m underpaid for this job’. These twelve days I start to realize that a double bed is incredibly big to sleep in alone, that his cooking skills are way better than mine and that watching Doom Preppers on my own is not that interesting at all… Although I hate being sentimental and every overly romantic gesture makes me barf a little, I have to say: I freaking miss my lover in the nighttime.