With some trepidation I recently switched from an iPhone to a Galaxy. Here’s how, why and what happened
Earlier this month I finally decided to ditch my lover. We’d been together for more than six years and it was no easy decision. There was pain, there were tears and more than a little heartache. But it had to be done. And if I’m brutally honest with myself the break-up was long overdue. Sure, we got on well – but then we always have done. And admittedly she was decent company, sometimes great fun to be with. But the truth of the matter was that I no longer found her attractive. And it’s an age-old truism that once the attraction has gone there is nothing left but memories.
I don’t need to tell you that things were very different when we first met. I remember it as if it were yesterday. It was a frantic day in Oxford Street and she was lying there with an aloof expression as hordes of excited young men tried to pick her up. I don’t know why she chose me: I certainty wasn’t the best looking or wealthiest person in that long line of admirers. I think it was my patience that did it. She could see that I was someone who was willing to wait. And when I finally got her into my arms a light went on and I felt her purr with happiness. We were together: there was so much I could teach her and so much she could teach me.
It wasn’t a long courtship. Within hours she was back at my place and I’m not ashamed to tell you that there was an immediate and intimate connection. She was younger then, obviously. Far less complicated. And it didn’t take me long to learn how to push all the right buttons. She was so different to the others I’d been with. She was sleek and sophisticated. They were overweight and uncultured. She was simple to understand. They were a mess of contradictions. She was beautiful. They were ugly.
Like most relationships the first year went by in a whirl. Were were together all the time. We worked and played together. We slept together. We woke up together. We listened to the same music, watched the same movies. We constantly texted and emailed. I enjoyed seeing people’s faces whenever we were out. They were envious. Jealous. They wanted to have her.
However, it was not all plain sailing. Even though I was helplessly in love this did not stop me from noticing her bad points. She was, for example, slow of thought and low in stamina. She often needed a long break in the afternoon to recharge her batteries. And she was alarmingly fragile: the slightest touch could cause untold damage. She needed to be wrapped in cotton wool. One time she fell to the pavement and badly hurt herself, requiring expensive corrective surgery. I suppose it was inevitable that someone like her would not come cheap.
Yet she was a quick learner. In less than a year her knowledge had grown. She abandoned her sombre grey clothing and replaced it with shiny black that seemed to mirror the zeitgeist of the time. And then black became white and it was clear to me that she was growing in maturity. She took up photography. Later she tried her hand at movie making. She even opened her own store, selling all manner of silly little things. And she wasted untold hours of her life playing Scrabble.
She was restless. She could not be seen to be standing still. It seemed that every year she tried to reinvent herself. She gained in height. She lost her curves and became thinner and sharper. She began talking back to me in a curiously male sounding voice. But I knew that deep down she was still the same as she ever was.
There were rivals. I’m not too proud to admit that there were others who caught my eye. Some were bigger, some were faster. Some were pretty, some were ugly. But although I often found myself staring longingly at their features, none could really match my beloved. She was the first. She was the best.
And then her father died after a long illness and she seemed to go into her shell. She seemed to stagnate, to tread water. Suddenly her rivals began to look a little more attractive. I waited for a spark: I waited to see if her mood would change. I waited for a sign that my lover might return to her former glories. When it didn’t happen I decided that it was I who had to change. Our contract was over.
And so my new lover walked through the door. All pomp and ceremony. All swagger and poise. She was taller and wider. She was thinner and lighter. And my old lover was cruelly pushed to one side as the new girl on the block got all my attention. And she need all my attention: she was a demanding lady. We did things together that I could previously only dream of. She was flexible. She was open-minded. And although, ironically, in many ways she allegedly looked very similar to my old lover she had hidden depths.
But she, too, was not without her foibles. She was a terrible driver and would frequently crash. Sometimes she got confused by the most simplest of tasks. And after merely a fortnight together I was appalled to find that I could no longer turn her on. I was devastated. I sent her away for corrective therapy and in her absence my old lover fell back into my lap.
She had not been idle during her exile from my affections. It was clear that she was anxious to rekindle the old flame. She sported a whole new wardrobe. She called it her ‘minimalist’ approach. She was faster and knew where she was going (although it has to be said that her navigational skills sometimes left much to be desired). She wore silver or gold and surprised me when she asked me to give her the finger. I told her I wasn’t ready for marriage just yet.
And that’s where we are now: I’m back with my old lover and for the moment she’s once again the apple of my eye. Her replacement is for all intents and purposes in another galaxy and I await her return with some trepidation. I have a difficult choice to make when that happens. But that’s what love is all about.