006 // The problem with dating a foreigner (aka, how a beanbag made its way into my post-college apartment)

*This post was written a while ago, aka, when I was still dating the foreigner. We parted ways amicably and are actually still really good friends. The story below, though, happens to be really funny.

Please do not mistake this tale as being against my now ex-boyfriend in any way. He is a good guy, and he actually has dual citizenship. But, he is still a foreigner. His family speaks French at home, and he lived overseas until he was ten. His formative years are all based outside the US. And that is actually one of the things that I loved about him. But it did cause some problems.

Like when we decided to move in together. It was a fairly long and drawn out process. We decided he would move out of his parents’ house and in with me. But that decision was made in February and he did not actually move in until May. Which is entirely beside the point. The point is that during those months, we would talk about him moving in. We made plans. We rearranged furniture. Having just moved into my own apartment a year prior, there were some pseudo-vital pieces of furniture that I was lacking. Like a couch.

At any rate, one day I asked if he was going to be bringing any furniture with him. I mean, I had three tables already, two bookcases, and a chair. The TV stand held the television that my parents had purchased back in 2001, and my DVD player was a standard, $25 affair with no Blu-Ray capabilities. But no couch. So there I was, wondering if my boyfriend was going to be bringing a couch into this relationship. At the mention of furniture, he perks up.

“Oh yes, I’ve got a loveseat. It will fit…here. Yes. I think it will fit here.”

In my head I was doing a jig. A loveseat? How on earth did I wind up dating the only twenty-something year old male who happens to know what a loveseat is? I fell a little bit more in love with him that day for being so mature, worldly, etc.

Two weeks later he tells me, “oh, but the loveseat is a bright red color. Very bright.” And his mother confirms, “Oh yes, his loveseat is very bright red. But also very comfortable. It is in the attic.”

I was still doing a head-jig. A loveseat? I don’t care what color it is – that is what a slipcover is for. Bring on the red!

Fast-forward a month and it is moving day. Up into the attic he goes while I’m boxing up other stuff. I hear my name being called, walk into the hall and see him hugging a plastic bag full of something cushy and white.

“This is it! I found it. Good thing it was in the bag – it’s really dusty up there.”

Now, warning bells should have been going off in my head. But nope. No warning bells here. Just a naïve hope that this bag he is holding is full of pillows or couch cushions. I mean, he knows what a loveseat is! I was dating a mature, sophisticated guy!

My mature, sophisticated now ex-boyfriend then proceeds to drop the bag on the floor, and plop down onto this thing he just dropped.

“See? It’s my loveseat. And it’s so comfortable.”

As my jaw dropped to the floor, I found myself doing that thing that he hates most of all – correcting his English.

“LoveSac. That is a LoveSac.”

Come to think of it, maybe I should have called this section “How To Start a Fight with Your Entire Boyfriend’s Foreign Family.”

Lesson learned: the name doesn’t matter so much if it is a really comfortable beanbag.

And the red? Not really so bad. But that beanbag? It lasted a whopping two months before he grew tired of me complaining about it and voluntarily removed it from the apartment.

Time spent: 4.5 minutes