Dear Joely: My Boyfriend Gave Me the Holiday Ick

Seven nights in Greece, one shared bathroom and rather more information about her boyfriend than she bargained for.

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Dear Joely,

I've been in a relationship with a guy for almost eight months now. We met on Tinder and it felt like a great match from the start. He just seems to get me. We don't live together. I'm still with my folks, and he's in a share house.

This summer, we decided to go on holiday together.

It was the first time I'd been away with a boyfriend and also my first time in Greece. I'm 22 and he's 25. We went for a seven-night package, and it was all very exciting at first. The weather was beautiful, with nothing but sunshine each day.

On the other hand...

I'm not really sure how to put this delicately, so I'll just go for it. I didn't know that in Greece you can't flush the toilet paper. Not until I got there. I must be a bit of a princess because I found that unbearable.

Also, a couple of days in, I noticed I wasn't feeling quite as into my boyfriend anymore. I was starting to see things about him that I hadn't at home.

He would take his book into the toilet with him each morning and spend an hour in there. I'm not even kidding. I found this just gross. I didn't know how to approach the subject with him, so I let it be.

I also didn't like seeing his used toilet paper in there when I had to use the toilet. Just eeeeuuuwwww!

He was really messy with his stuff too. I like to keep a hotel room tidy. I asked him about this, but he didn't seem to take me seriously.

About halfway through, he got a stomach bug. This made the whole toilet situation worse. I kept finding myself torn between wanting to be caring and not being able to bear it, so I would leave the room and go for walks by myself. I took to using the public toilet rather than the one in our room.

It got pretty bad because I was even doing my makeup in a compact mirror rather than going to use the main bathroom mirror.

I'm sure I sound horrible, but even though there were a few other things that bugged me, this is the last thing I'm going to mention.

When he wasn't sick and we were exploring the island, I found he would talk down to the Greek people, as though he thought he was better than them. I was really embarrassed.

I just got quieter and quieter over the course of the trip. I suppose I went into myself. I also didn't fancy him much, and we didn't have a lot of sex, which is not like us.

Now we're home, and I don't know whether to try to put this whole sorry holiday behind us and get back to the way we were, or face the fact that I get on a lot better with him when we don't share accommodation. Which, to me, doesn't seem like it has much of a future in it.

I had the idea to write when I read that other letter to you about the ick. My situation seems a bit different, though.

I hope you can help.

Yours,

Cor-feeuuwww

Dear Cor-feeuuwww,

There is nothing quite like a first holiday together for stripping the soft lighting off a relationship.

At home, you see your boyfriend in portions. A dinner here, a sleepover there, perhaps a weekend if everyone is feeling brave. On holiday, there is nowhere for the ordinary machinery of a person to hide. You see how they pack, how they sulk, how they cope with illness, how they treat waiters, how long they occupy the bathroom and whether they regard the hotel floor as a wardrobe with better lighting.

So let us begin with the toilet paper.

You are not a monster because you found the Greek plumbing arrangements revolting. You were unfamiliar with them, sharing a small bathroom with a man who apparently regarded it as both lavatory and reading room, and then he became ill. That is enough to test even the most fragrant of romances.

The hour-long morning bathroom occupation would irritate many people. The fact that you did not know how to raise it says something too. After eight months, you should be able to say, “Darling, I love you, but I also need access to the toilet before breakfast.”

The mess is also not trivial simply because it involves socks and toiletries. You told him it bothered you, and he did not take you seriously. Shared living is built from tiny acts of consideration. Nobody has to keep a hotel room like an operating theatre, but they do have to notice when the person beside them is becoming distressed.

His stomach bug is the part for which I would offer him the most mercy. Illness is graceless, and very few people become more alluring while their digestive system is staging a coup. You were not wrong to struggle with it, though disappearing for walks while he was unwell may be worth thinking about. A long-term relationship eventually asks us to care for someone when they are inconvenient, unattractive and producing evidence we would rather not inspect.

But the detail I would not wave away is the way he spoke to Greek people.

That is not holiday mess. That is not plumbing. That is not a stomach bug.

It is character.

A person who talks down to local people while enjoying their country is showing you how he behaves when he believes he is entitled to something. Embarrassment in those moments is often the body’s way of saying, “Pay attention. This matters.”

You say you became quieter and quieter. That may be the most important sentence in your letter.

You did not merely lose sexual interest. You began withdrawing from the relationship while still standing inside it.

That is not simply a story about getting the ick. It is also a story about what happens between you when something is wrong.

Do not make a decision based solely on whether you fancied him while he had diarrhoea. Very few romances survive that particular lighting test with dignity.

But do not rush to “get back to the way you were” either. The way you were depended partly on not having seen certain things.

You now need one honest conversation.

Not a prosecution. Not a catalogue of his bathroom crimes. Tell him the trip made you realise that you communicate badly when uncomfortable, that you felt dismissed when you raised the mess, and that you were genuinely troubled by the way he spoke to Greek people.

Then watch what he does.

Does he listen?

Does he laugh it off?

Does he blame you for being precious?

Does he become curious about your experience?

Does he show any shame about his behaviour towards the locals, or only embarrassment that you noticed?

The future of the relationship is not hiding in the waste-paper bin. It is in his response.

You may discover that the trip exposed some manageable habits and one miserable week. Or you may discover that the version of him you liked best was the version you only ever met in carefully measured doses.

Either answer is useful.

And for what it is worth, there is no shame in learning that you do not want to share a bathroom with someone for the rest of your life. Civilisations have collapsed over less.

Yours, from the public toilets with my compact mirror,
Joely