Pee in the Fridge Means…True Love?by Chiara Atik on June 09, 2020
How do you know it’s really love, and not just lust or infatuation? When The Gloss decided to pose this question to its readers, we couldn’t wait to read the answers.
Is it the first time you let your boyfriend/girlfriend see you sick?
The first time you go on vacation and find yourself scouting around for Internet Cafes and Skyping with him or her every night?
That amazing weekend where you didn’t leave each other’s sight, and didn’t even get sick of each other?
The first time you have that terrible, destabilizing feeling that you don’t care about anything as much as you care about that person?
Well, not quite.
According to the (very first!) example in the article:
“I think it was when he peed in my fridge. He had a bad day at work and got drunker than I’ve ever seen him. And he came over. And after vomiting into a soup bowl, he opened my fridge and I thought “oh, he’s looking for food?” But no, he peed. And I thought “Jesus Christ, I hope he does not have some kind of permanent brain damage.” And that was my first thought! And I really, really dislike gross things happening around food. And I don’t like having people in my apartment that much. But I got him to bed, and it was okay, and he was extremely apologetic. But I realized that if I was willing to let someone pee in my fridge and my first thought wasn’t “pee cloud forming time to disinfect!” then I guess… I guess that’s what love is.”
Really, this story isn’t so different from our beloved example of modern romance from Bridget Jones’s Diary: This girl decided then and there to like this guy just as he is. Urinating. Into her refrigerator.
Obviously there doesn’t have to be a swell of an orchestra or a full moon in the moment you realize you’re in love with someone. Love, even romantic love, can manifest itself in subtle or untraditional ways. But shouldn’t being in love mean something more than discovering you can suddenly tolerate a behavior which normally would repulse you?
Surely, surely there is a happier medium between waltzing down the Seine and finding yourself scrubbing dried urine from your fridge?