Condiment Conundrum

Of all the things to have become an issue from moving in with a boy, nothing could have prepared me for this. The smells, the piles of dirty pants, the cigarette butts in glasses, the fact that he uses all of my expensive shampoo and doesn’t understand why I get in a huff when he suggests I clean my hair with washing up liquid – all of these things I can handle. I had expected these challenges and been warned about them by my fellow double-X chromosome beings.

No, the biggest issue about moving in with a boy is far more difficult to cope with. Mainly because it is so bizarre. So surreal that even Dali would struggle to portray it accurately in a painting. And it is because of the surreal nature of it, which is why I could never have prepared myself mentally or emotionally for it.

The problem is – condiments.

I should have noticed the warning signs before. During the early loved up days when I would come round to his flat laden with Aldi 3p carrier bags brimming with cheap, continental delights which I would attempt to fashion into a culinary treat. I would purchase dressings for summer salads, Tabasco for Delia’s chicken jambalaya (or Gambalaya, as I like to call it after myself) and wholegrain mustard to sex up the potato part of bangers and mash.

A few days later I would return to his flat. And the condiments, bought only 48 hours earlier, would be gone. Vanished. The vessel would be sparse of content, apart from the congealed remains lingering around the lid.

My boyfriend, it appears, has a condiment compulsion – a habit for honey, a dependence on dips, an obsession with oils and a ridiculous reliance on relish.

Not a bottle of Heinz ketchup, nor a jar of cranberry jelly, or vessel of soy sauce can last more than a few days. But how, why?? Sure, I’ve noticed he tends to lay on the mayo thick across his side salad and drown his chips in tomato sauce – but I still can’t understand where it all goes. He must actually just sit there and drink the damn stuff.

Like any irrational irritation, my internal fury over the matter is unexplainable. But one thing is for sure, this can not continue. I am declaring a vinegar vendetta. SAVE OUR MAYO.