Is Romance Dead? Or in a coma? Should we poke it and see?

So for those of you not yet aware, which is anyone without a computer, phone or indeed within shouting distance of my face, I am currently residing in the beautiful city of Venice in Italy.

 

This was not an 'Eat. Pray. Love' finding myself type decision, it was more a 'we will pay you to eat' type decision. 

 

So here I am. In what I believe might actually be the most beautiful city in the world. Add to that pizza, ice-cream and yummy Italian men. Or that was the idea. Unfortunately Venice is not full of thirty something dark haired lotharios called Lorenzo who would love to eat gelato off my naked body. Nope.....It is full of tourists. 

 

Tourist couples. (I threw up in my mouth a little bit when I wrote that).

They've all flocked out to have a wonderful romantic four days on gondolas, holding hands on bridges, kissing in corners and generally getting in my way on my way to work.

 

Initially I wanted to throw each couple off the Rialto and into the Grand Canal, but to be honest that would be a little too time consuming and I have better things to do with my time. Eat Pizza. Scowl. That sort of thing.

 

So instead I have observed. Like a sort of pervert spy.

 

Romance is a big business here. This place is a sort of Groundhog Valentine's Day. Gondoliers sweep young couples up and down the canal under some of the most stunning vistas ever to have been built by man. Rose sellers accost you at every turn with their huge bunches of reminders of your singledom. You can eat ice cream and playfully put some on your lovers nose before kissing in a sort of Rom Com type way. This was the city of Casanova for goodness sake. How can you not get swept up in the greeting card life? Even I forget sometimes and start holding my own hand as I wander over bridges and wonder what romantic restaurant I will take myself out to this evening.

 

This would be an ideal place to have such a unique experience, if you weren't sharing it with 6543 other couples.

 

As a result the city is packed with couples forcing themselves at huge expense to have a good time. 

 

Women scowling at boyfriends who didn't buy them that rose despite the fact that it was 3 euros and he's already sold his clothing and teeth to take her to the opera and eat a sandwich. (It's an expensive city).

 

I go on my little vaporetto up the river and watch couple in gondalas. And do they look like disgustingly happy newly weds who need to get a room? No. They look embarrassed as people gawp at them from passing boats and the banks of the river. And, depending on the weather, a bit wet. And not in a good way.

 

Call me cynical, (I won't answer because it's not my name), but I think that this forced romance actually sucks the romance out of a relationship.

 

Maybe I'm just bitter, but I can't see how you can feel ardently in love with your partner when you are fighting through crowds of equally ardently in love couples and rose sellers.

 

I can't help but feel a little smug as I sit in my quiet little corner with my book watching couples argue over maps and who got who lost.

 

But maybe I just don't know what romantic means.

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Psychopath

Recently, I have been doing some talking, and one topic that has come up time and time again is women in relationships and our bizarre behaviour. Now, whilst trying to give a male friend some advice on why women behave in this way when in relationships, I did have to gently remind him that I hadn't been in one for a while.....

And then, whilst I was wiping the blood off my hands I got to thinking and here are a selection of my views...

Scenario number one. 

A boy is at a wedding. He is chatting to a pretty girl all through dinner, they are getting on very well, laughing, flirting, doing whatever it is young fools do at a wedding when there are wine and suits. Then it comes to the evening and they are dancing. And not just any dancing I mean Patrick Swayze (God rest his soul) style dancing. She had put down her watermelon and was giving it her all. He was thinking 'yabadabbadoo' 'yowzer' 'flibbertigibbit' and 'blimey'.
He was then informed, by a brutha from anutha mutha, that he needed to 'watch his step' this lady had a long-term boyfriend.
These are the questions that arose, why didn't she tell him? Why was she behaving like a slut-face? Did she want to split up with her boyfriend and get with this fella she had just picked up at wedding? I doubt it. It's an interesting one. I think in this case, attention. We girls like to think that we are sexy and desirable, and obviously lavish any attention we get especially if it is an attractive guy giving it.
 

There is a school of thought that flirting outside of the relationship is beneficial to the relationship itself. It reminds the person that they are attractive and sexy, boosting their confidence, which, of course, brushes off in the boudoir.
It doesn't go on to say how the poor sap feels who has been used and has been left to go home and watch soft porn on channel five because his internet connection is down. (I don't know this to be true - I don't know the guy that well).
All in all I would say that girl sounds like a bit of a prick tease. Why is it acceptable to rub yourself up against a man's love stick, only to go home to your man at the end of the night? It is not. It is not acceptable. Dirty Girl. Bad Dirty Girl. Go to my room.

Scenario number two. 

A couple have had a nice meal. Everything is lovely. A romantic atmosphere, good wine, a twinkle in each others eyes. They are walking home. The girl is quiet. Very quiet. 

The man asks 'is everything ok?' 

She replies 'fine'. 

More silence. 

'Really darling, something is obviously not ok' 

'I'm fine' 

'You're not fine, obviously. You haven't said a word' 

'Honestly. I'm fine.'
 

They go home, brush their teeth, get ready for bed, in complete silence. The man is in agony. He has no idea what he has done. Is she going to leave? Has she decided she hates him? Has she met someone else? Is she dying? Or worse, pregnant?!

Then they are lying in bed and she says, 'Actually it really pissed me off that you told the waiter we didn't want a dessert. How the hell do you know I don't want a dessert?! You think I'm too fat for ice-cream don't you?! You were insinuating that I had already finished off an entire plate of salad and that if I had a dessert I'd just be a pig who is already too fat and is going to end up looking just like my mother and that I make you sick to look at me!'

This happens with us women all the time. We are psychos! We let a guy sweat and sweat and sideline him with some pointless, stupid, petty argument that is generally about how insecure we are.
 

I know I do this. And the worst thing is while I am doing it I am having some sort of outer body experience. I am hovering over myself shouting 'WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! WHY ARE YOU BEING SO DIFFICULT?! THAT DRESS LOOKS AWFUL!' etc....
 

And yet I can't stop, I just can't, we know where it's going and yet we want to cause more hassle. Why? Why is this in our nature?
 

I think this shows that women would make good spies. We store all our information away from the Russians and then at the very last minute when they are exasperated we confuse them with questions like 'Do you think my mother is attractive?' or 'Have you stopped respecting me because I do your laundry?' thus throwing them into such a state of confusion that we are able to bring them down with our stiletto knife heel.

Or something.