I cleaned my very green fish tank today. I lovingly removed Eric from his tank and proceeded to scrub the evidence of my neglect away. It was relatively easy and involved much less effort than removing the sins of my neglect in my life outside of my lounge room.
It was at this moment, elbow deep in fish wee water, that I decided that my relationship with Eric was by far the most functional relationship I’ve ever had. Eric is a golden man that makes up for what he lacks in facial hair by his devotion to my wellness and entertainment. He, in fan tailed short, is the perfect boyfriend.
Eric doesn’t tell boring stories. I don’t have to sit for minutes that seem like hours while he tells me a very long and involved story that involves some intricate strategy he’s developed online with six ‘mates’ he’s never met in an online game that has an acronym that doesn’t stand for anything that matters.
Eric’s ability to mansplain is non-existent. He doesn’t correct my cooking technique, try to change the way I fall into my yoga positions or tell me how the fuel filter works in my car. I don’t have to nod and pretend that I’m smarter after a mansplaining session or better yet, make me recount my knowledge to make sure that I’m smarter now that I’ve been told something I surely could not have known before.
Eric lets me watch what I want, when I want on TV. He does not object to my Vampire Diaries marathons or the fact that I’ve watched Dirty Dancing at least three times this year. In fact, I’m almost positive he enjoys my television marathons. The heat and noise from the TV vibrates through his tank and I’m positive keeps him warm and entertained. He does seem to swim faster when the death of yet one more Mystic Falls resident graces the screen. (I’m also sure he’s barracking team Damon as well)
Eric makes himself beautiful and fancy purely for my enjoyment and his own amusement. Unlike any boyfriend, grooming for Eric isn’t considered a chore. He primps and preens himself inside the walls of the tank and for at least an hour I can watch Eric make himself beautiful. Just like his namesake, Eric from True Blood, he is naturally beautiful. I normally find pretty boys difficult to deal with. Any man prettier than me makes me feel slightly insecure but with Eric confined to my lounge room and within the four walls of glass, not only can he be more beautiful than me, he can primp and preen for my entertainment for as long as he likes. Like watching the real boys at the gym watch themselves in the mirror, or following Andrew Paps on Instagram just to watch him do synchronized burpees.
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| Andrew Pap – instagram – seriously follow him. It’ll make your days better. Just ignore the exercise stuff and watch. You’ll get fitter by exposure and voyeurism – I promise. |
The list could go on. I’ve got a thousand more ways Eric is better than a boyfriend but while I list them internally, I’ll sit and watch him while he sits and watches himself but he’ll do it quietly and without judgmental eyes and I’ll continue to enjoy his company, unconditional love and unfailing beauty. Well, until Damon Salvatore grows a beard, loses his dead girlfriend and comes walking in my front door. Then sorry Eric, you’re going to have to fend for yourself.
life in big frilly knickers 