Moving in with a German

Earlier this year, Manfredas asked me to move in with him. This was actually a brave move on his part as I’d previously told him that I’d set fire to my kitchen while making a ham and cheese toastie. Twice.

Still, from my point of view, it was a great idea for a number of reasons:

  1. Germans have better insurance than I do – i.e. they have insurance.
  2. I’d accidentally flashed my boobs at my elderly neighbour while I was getting dressed and he was having a smoke on his balcony. He’d been very unfriendly to begin with, but it turned out that all it took was an impromptu peep show to lead to daily invitations to his apartment for a drink. I politely (then not so politely) declined.
  3. I’d managed to clog my shower drain with hair beyond what my questionable abilities as a plumber could cope with. Loath to go and tell the Hausmeister and watch him pull a yeti out of there, I tried (and failed) to use my own methods.
Not to be confused.

I decided to leave my slightly blackened oven, randy neighbour and hirsute shower drain behind and accept Manfredas’ offer. (Sometimes I can be just as romantic as the Germans.)

Manfredas lent me some boxes from when he’d last moved and I assured him I would be packed up and ready to go that weekend. Unfortunately, it seemed that my box-putting-together skills were about as developed as my cooking and plumbing skills. Never fear – after about half an hour of arsing around on youtube, I found what I was looking for, put my first box together (with a lot of pause/play/swearing) and it was plain sailing from there.

Utilising a woman’s touch I didn’t know I possessed, I adorned Manfredas’ (sorry, OUR) flat with cardboard boxes, clothes and shoes, cosmetics, toiletries, and four wineglasses and a packet of Bisto – the only things worth taking from my old kitchen.

Me: (upon closer inspection of my new kitchen) I’m afraid I have to move out.

Manfredas: You just moved in! What’s wrong? 

Me: I can’t reach the wineglasses. This could be a deal-breaker.

German kitchens are not made for Irish people.

Luckily Manfredas – being the resourceful sort that he is – quickly remedied the situation and disaster was averted.

The Linda shelf!

While I could cope with living out of a suitcase for a week or so, I kind of needed to hit the ground running on the work front so the first priority was a desk, chair and shelving unit for my brand new home office. Yes, home office. I am now fancy.

An hour or so in Sconto and I was the proud owner of all of the above. In flat-pack form.


While Manfredas was happy enough to let me bash a dowel (I just had to ask him what the word is for “the little wooden things that you hammer into other things to make furniture stick together”) every now and then, it was decided that my unique skill-set would probably be better put to use in keeping the music going and the wine flowing.

Manfredas: Hmm, I don’t think the tools given are good enough for this bit. I need a drill. (Produces a rather nice Black & Decker drill set.)

Me: Bah haha! You own drills! 

Manfredas: Well, of course I own drills. How else do you think things get on walls? 

Me: Oh yes. Right. That makes sense.

Sometimes I forget that I’m a grown-up dating a grown-up.

Anyway, in a few short hours – for me, at any rate – the office was complete.

Don’t worry – the screwdriver is just for show.

Once I had everything in place, it was time for the next phase – showing me how to use the TV, the heating, the dishwasher, the washing machine and various other gadgets that Germans love. Amazingly, Manfredas has undertaken to do most of the cooking so a cooker tutorial didn’t really come into play.

This probably explains why the flat is still standing and we’re rubbing along nicely together. I guess he should probably put the ham and cheese on the top shelf of the fridge though…


24 thoughts on “Moving in with a German”

  1. Whoa, that’s a biggie! But you didnt have to blow our collective minds by claiming you’re actually a grown-up… I mean, if I’m not…


  2. Awww! Sweet! Congratulations my dear. You’re on the way to being a real German!

    Haw! Haw! I love what you said about the drills. I actually owned a box of nails, and spanners, & stuff when I met my German husband. He must have been impressed, ‘cos I honestly have no idea where I got it from! Maybe that’s why he married me, as I certainly can’t cook!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yeah, I don’t think anyone would ever be with me for my cooking skills! But I still haven’t set the kitchen on fire here which is good 🙂 I’m not even sure what a spanner looks like… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Aw, that’s a nice one! Good advice! Nothing I hate more than the silent treatment so no way I would subject anyone else to it – although maybe Manfredas would prefer me silent once in a while 😉


  3. Challenged by your list of household disasters, I remembered that after my partner and I bought a house, I decided I hate to be Big Tough Homeowner and when the toilet developed a twenty-five-cent leak, I fixed it by turning it into a $250 disaster–plus I took out the kitchen ceiling. I’ve learned to call the plumber. It’s cheaper and more efficient.

    Wishing you both much happiness.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Ha ha! That sounds exactly like something I would do! Thankfully I now have someone to monitor these sorts of situations and remedy them before I let them get out of hand! 🙂 And thank you!

      Liked by 1 person

  4. Congratulations – you’ve stepped over to the dark side *muhahaha*. Benefit: Your German is going to be top-notch in no time. I know that from experience. (I took the leap from the other side, moving in with an Irishman.)

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Love the evil laugh 😉 I did the same to Manfredas just before I hit publish muhahaha! Yep, I’m hoping to see a marked improvement by the end of the year! Like having a live-in teacher – poor Manfredas 😉


  5. Congratulations! 😃 Your office looks great. And I love the thought that you suddenly realised you’re a grown up dating another grown up 😂 I remember feeling terribly grown up when I first had a house to look after (and my husband also has drills, though I discovered his talents don’t extend to anything electrical 😉)

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I hope nobody was injured along the way to that discovery 😉 Yeah, it sort of hits me that I’m a grown-up every now and then – can’t say it’s done much for my Hausfrau abilities though!!


  6. How wonderful! Yes, the insurance thing is quite important … dare I admit that was part of what was on my not-yet-husband’s mind when he proposed? Oh, I know you’re not getting married, but the sentiment is somewhat the same. Someone needs to take care of the lass — meaning you and meaning that Manfredas knows by now exactly what he’s getting into. And you get your own office to boot! How exciting 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I know, right?! Well, Manfredas has been there, done that with the wedding thing and while I’m sure I could rock wearing a meringue, it’s not really my thing 😉 Still not quite sure he knows what he’s getting into but I’m sure he’ll find out haha!

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Patience is key. Greg and I lived together before for 3 years before we got married. We had worked out most of the kinks by then. Marriage was necessary from a legal POV (insurance), but then we had our personal interpretation of marriage. Since we had already decided not to have children, some people were perplexed why we bothered. And I didn’t change my name. I probably would have if he had an interesting last name, but I couldn’t get excited about “Marie Brown” 😏

        Liked by 3 people

        1. Yeah, I’m not a huge fan of O’Grady but it’s way easier to pronounce than Manfredas’ last name! I still have to pause over the spelling of it every now and then! Marie Brown sounds like a wallflower and that ain’t you 😉

          Liked by 1 person

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