Skip to main content

Dubai, the infantile boyfriend

If Dubai was a person, it would be the Infantile Boyfriend.

You know the kind, we've all had one - he's that bloke who was always late, never remembered your birthday, took the seat at the cinema with the clear view leaving you sitting behind the giant with the huge bouffy head, never gave you the last most chocolately bit of his Cornetto and never, ever apologised.

But however irritated and heartbroken you became at his shoddy treatment, you put up with it because he was, frankly, totally gorgeous -so hot that he left a trail of open-mouthed drooling women in his wake, all of them giving you the evil-eye because they wanted your arm-candy. And when you were with him, despite the fact that he was a major sh*t, you had a whole heap of fun. Infantile Boyfriend, like all self-obsessed juvenile delinquents, can always be relied on to ramp up the excitement factor. If it suits them, of course.

Dubai is most certainly infantile by nature - half-finished, a bit rough round the edges and dodgy in parts in terms of infastructure. Despite its shortcomings Dubai would rather implode than apologise - and going one better, make you feel that any mistakes are actually your fault. Dubai is also very adept at the "you are sooo annoying" eye-roll, usually (just like the Infantile Boyfriend) when being forced to confront some kind of reasonable request that doesn't involve playtime.

Also like the Infantile Boyfriend, Dubai is prone to changing its mind without giving you advance warning - a prime example being when you're on your way to work and finding that your usual route has, overnight, inexplicably changed, forcing you to do a major detour, get halfway to Abu Dhabi before you can do a u-turn, then find yourself to be hopelessly lost due to the lack of legible road signs.

And of course, just like the Infantile Boyfriend, you love Dubai desperately. You love the warmth, the lifestyle, the long gorge-all-you-can-eat brunches by the beach, the fact that drinking booze feels a bit naughty even when you're doing it perfectly legally, that it is so very different from back home, so exotic, expensive and impractical, a bit like an extended holiday.... and because you know that there's not a hope in Hell that it's going to last forever so you've got to make the most of it right now.

At some point, we all have to brave reality again. But you know, it's just great while it lasts.

Comments

Anonymous said…
As we all know, the Infantile Boyfriend makes the Infantile Husband (if we are sooooo stupid!), and inevitably becomes the Incredibly Irritating Divorced Idiot. Amusing at first, they tire you out and you just want them to go away. Then, they embarrass you - all your fault though for being a twit. Is Dubai like that? I guess it is. All show, no substance. Like those holiday destinations (and Infantile Boyfriends), great for a couple of weeks but boring in the longterm. Unless of course, Dubai (and Boyfriend) grow up. There is a flicker of hope, but who wants to wait that long. Only a mother...
Kate B. said…
Well, I would temper it a bit by saying that there is a lot of show but there is substance, you just have to dig for it! I'm hoping that Dubai will be good for at least three years, because however irritating it is at times it's also a whole heap of fun.
Jenny T. said…
I like this. That makes London the stressed-out workaholic. Which one do I prefer?
Anonymous said…
Jenny T - I speak from experience - Infantile Boyfriend for short-term holiday, Stressed-Out Workaholic for long-term relationship. Honestly!

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

What Price Romance?

Let's talk romance for a moment. Manhattan Mama clearly feels deprived in this department and this is one of the most bewildering aspects of life with her. My latest attempt to remedy this is to make a reservation at A Voce--some interpretation of Tuscan cuisine--that the NYT recently gave three very optimistic stars. I've been a few times on my employers expense, so I know it's nice but I also know what it's going to cost. I'm thinking lucky if we get out of there for less than $150. Tack on another $50 for the babysitter. Then drinks, cabs, etc. Better not to do the math. It's not that MM wouldn't be perfectly happy with a kabab or a trip to the hipster taqueria, maybe some flowers from the corner stand. None of that would register in her mind as this mythic thing know as a DATE, and thus would win me no more points on her end than remembering to take down the recycling. Making a DATE means you're thinking of her, which means you're engaged with h...