love match
love match
noun
a marriage based on the mutual love of the couple rather than social or financial considerations.
The relationship between me and Switzerland is definitely a love match. Isn't it love when you can live together without nagging too much on each other. If you permit, the amount of nagging can easily determine your relationship. Nagging is usually based on simple questions asked out of curiosity but the turning point of them is always just getting on each other's nerves.
Anway, there are millions of questions you may want to ask Switzerland as an average Estonian. Why cannot the bus doors open automatically? Why do you have to make communication so difficult by having to remember everyone's names when you first meet them and then use it in every sentence thereafter? (greetings to Kaisa) Why do you eat macaroni with apple jam? Can't you just finish your conversation by saying goodbye and not a ten-time here and there with seeyou-thankyou-have-a-nice-day-you-too? Why can't you possess just a little bit of this healthy humour we tend to in the North.
But you see, I do not nag about the above listed, because Switzerland might just be the love of my life. Yet, when you look at us, we probably seem like one of those couples you always ask yourself how on earth those two came to be together. For example, I do not enjoy walking up and down the mountains. I am quite cold towards the praized chocolate and the smell of cheese I am not a fan of, either. I cannot jass (greetings to Yvonne and Adrian) and I hate skiing. But love is there. I adore the mornings I can push the little red-green button to open the doors to a warm bus. There is nothing more convenient than Swiss politeness, so easy and if you obey the rules, so effective. Traditions like eating white bread from Migros on Sunday mornings, having a four-o'clock-snack every day and concidering after-21h00-phone-calls extremely rude make my life complete. Switzerland loves me even if I am really stupid and forget my purse full of cash in a phone booth. Because in Switzerland it is in the lost-and-found office. (This is a true story). How can you not love someone like that right back again.
As everyone else around, we have had hard times, too. There was this time when I wanted to cross the border in Zurich Airport and they wanted to put me in jail because they were convinced I was a prostitute. Of course I did indeed not have a return ticket and was not in the mood of speaking in the bernese dialect, so it pissed him off. I perfectly understand it now, however, back in 1998 I really thought I had lost him. Since then, I always do my utmost to mind my mouth when it comes to choosing the language. In my Swiss life I was born and brought up in Berne, and occasionally I am forced to lie about my grandparents being Hansruedi and Marlies, just to keep out of long explainings, but Mike, seriously, I cannot write in bäärndüütsch, because there are no rules... Come to think of it, this is one of the very few things here that does not come with rules.
There are also things I cannot understand or maybe just do not get the logics behind it. Like why on earth did you come up with this little washing towel for your face? Why are you not supposed to throw your Rabidog bag that already has a knot on it into a normal trash bin, instead, you have to march with the yellow baggy all through the city to find a green bin tailor-made for the kaka in your hand. But I refuse to let any of that come between me and my Switzerland. This love does not base on materia. This is not a relationship of nagging. This is a love match.
noun
a marriage based on the mutual love of the couple rather than social or financial considerations.
The relationship between me and Switzerland is definitely a love match. Isn't it love when you can live together without nagging too much on each other. If you permit, the amount of nagging can easily determine your relationship. Nagging is usually based on simple questions asked out of curiosity but the turning point of them is always just getting on each other's nerves.
Anway, there are millions of questions you may want to ask Switzerland as an average Estonian. Why cannot the bus doors open automatically? Why do you have to make communication so difficult by having to remember everyone's names when you first meet them and then use it in every sentence thereafter? (greetings to Kaisa) Why do you eat macaroni with apple jam? Can't you just finish your conversation by saying goodbye and not a ten-time here and there with seeyou-thankyou-have-a-nice-day-you-too? Why can't you possess just a little bit of this healthy humour we tend to in the North.
But you see, I do not nag about the above listed, because Switzerland might just be the love of my life. Yet, when you look at us, we probably seem like one of those couples you always ask yourself how on earth those two came to be together. For example, I do not enjoy walking up and down the mountains. I am quite cold towards the praized chocolate and the smell of cheese I am not a fan of, either. I cannot jass (greetings to Yvonne and Adrian) and I hate skiing. But love is there. I adore the mornings I can push the little red-green button to open the doors to a warm bus. There is nothing more convenient than Swiss politeness, so easy and if you obey the rules, so effective. Traditions like eating white bread from Migros on Sunday mornings, having a four-o'clock-snack every day and concidering after-21h00-phone-calls extremely rude make my life complete. Switzerland loves me even if I am really stupid and forget my purse full of cash in a phone booth. Because in Switzerland it is in the lost-and-found office. (This is a true story). How can you not love someone like that right back again.
As everyone else around, we have had hard times, too. There was this time when I wanted to cross the border in Zurich Airport and they wanted to put me in jail because they were convinced I was a prostitute. Of course I did indeed not have a return ticket and was not in the mood of speaking in the bernese dialect, so it pissed him off. I perfectly understand it now, however, back in 1998 I really thought I had lost him. Since then, I always do my utmost to mind my mouth when it comes to choosing the language. In my Swiss life I was born and brought up in Berne, and occasionally I am forced to lie about my grandparents being Hansruedi and Marlies, just to keep out of long explainings, but Mike, seriously, I cannot write in bäärndüütsch, because there are no rules... Come to think of it, this is one of the very few things here that does not come with rules.
There are also things I cannot understand or maybe just do not get the logics behind it. Like why on earth did you come up with this little washing towel for your face? Why are you not supposed to throw your Rabidog bag that already has a knot on it into a normal trash bin, instead, you have to march with the yellow baggy all through the city to find a green bin tailor-made for the kaka in your hand. But I refuse to let any of that come between me and my Switzerland. This love does not base on materia. This is not a relationship of nagging. This is a love match.
tinkerblond - 9. Mai, 15:24
