Reason 8 – they rely on SMS-ing too much

I had been in a relationship with Reason 8, Steve, for about twelve months and we had gotten along famously right from the very beginning. As soon as I had met him I had realised that he had the potential to be the perfect guy. He could cook. He could clean. He was witty and charming and active and damn it, he was great in bed. I had always been an extremely independent woman and both friends and family were amazed that I seemed to be committed to this one guy – something they had long lost hope of seeing, particularly as I was nearing my mid-thirties and had never been in a relationship longer than a few months before getting itchy feet and wandering eyes.

A year or so into our relationship, I decided it would be a natural progression for Steve and I to move in together (in hindsight, possibly my first major error). It wasn’t something that I was overly concerned about – I wasn’t intent on invading anyone’s personal space, or inviting myself into facets of Steve’s life in which I wasn’t welcome… No, no. It just made perfect sense to my practical self that since we spent all of our time together anyway, in either his house or mine, we may well pool our resources, cut our expenditure and streamline our operations. We could consider the whole episode a business venture between two like-minded individuals who enjoyed each other’s company. Yes. A business venture.

After a few weeks of discussion, I realised that Steve wasn’t in any way ready to be moved in with. I suggested that we postpone (indefinitely) our co-habitation, and all discussion about it, and Steve hastily and eagerly agreed. The dialogue was shelved and our relationship continued along the happy trail it had been coursing. We returned to spending two or three nights a week at each other’s houses and being inseparable between Friday nights and Sunday evenings. I had my much-loved solitude a few nights during the week and the taboo subject of living together was never discussed.

A further six months later, around the 18 month mark in our relationship, Steve decided to broach the topic of living together again. He explained that he hadn’t been ready previously, but had reconciled that my proposal had been correct purely from an economic viewpoint, and that in order to streamline operations, we should try living together. I nodded as he said this and explained that I didn’t want him to feel pressured into doing anything as I was more than happy with they way things were (“and if it ain’t broke, why fix it?”).

“No, no,” argued the fellow pragmatist Reason 8 - he felt it was in both of our interests to look at it as a business venture and move in together as a cost-saving initiative. I think he even thought that this was his idea. I explained that I enjoyed things the way they were, but if he really felt strongly about it, I would be prepared to remove some of the clutter in my house for him to have some space for his own clutter. He could move in at the end of a month when the notice on his own apartment ran out.

So, I spent the following month clearing the spare room to create space for my soon-to-be live-in-lover. Steve seemed to be often busy in the fortnight preceding the move, explaining that he couldn’t see me most nights because it was taking him so long to pack up his many possessions – he didn’t seem to want any assistance either. I really thought nothing of it, reconciling that I would be seeing more than enough of him before too long and revelling in the lone-time I was able to enjoy.

The daySteve was due to move in, I hadn’t seen him for 10 days, although we had been speaking often on the phone, and sending text messages constantly (we were a couple of the new millennium after all – it was all about the text messages from start to finish).

I called him in the morning and he said that he was on his way over with a truckload of furniture and car full of clothing.

I never saw or heard from Steve again. Except the text message I got after leaving a few messages asking where he was. “Sorry babe. Can’t do this. Need space. CUO (“See you round”) Steve x”. So much for our adult, mature business proposal. The whole 18 month partnership was over with a single text. Steve never returned my calls or emails, and one day I came home to find all of my belongings that had resided at his house in a carton in my apartments foyer. For all I know he could have been dead. I didn’t ever get up the gumption to send him my ideal (not-very-mature) text back: FU U 8=9 (“Fuck you, you knob”) J