I think we need to see other people. It's not you. It's me. Well, maybe it's a little bit you. OK, actually it's all you.
We've been together now for almost a year, and I do feel as though our relationship has really evolved. I'm much more comfortable with you and all your crazy moments. But there was so much excitement at the beginning: you took me to different places and introduced me to all your friends. Even learning about your culture was fascinating to me. Now, not so much.
It's been great hanging out with you - you're such an important guy in your family of Qatar - but I need to get back to a country that really knows me. A country that's known me my whole life, and gets my jokes. A country that doesn't criticize what I eat, or what I wear. A country that has actual weather. A country that's not seventeen shades of beige.
Sure, it's been fun sometimes. You brought me to concerts, fancy restaurants, and long walks along the waterfront. You bought me clothes and knock-off designer handbags. You even took me out to the desert and drove like crazy through the dunes, and we rode camels together.
But you kind of have a mean streak, especially when you're driving. Every time I get behind the wheel with you, I feel like I'm taking my life in my hands. And, as generous as you are, you're not alway the best provider; when I say I want Cheerios that taste like real Cheerios, why do you make me pay $13 a box?
When I first met you, a friend of yours told me that if I started a relationship with you I would be given two buckets. One would be for money, the other for BS; when one or the other was full, it would be time for me to go. One of mine almost needs to be emptied. If you have to ask which one, then maybe you never really knew me at all.
So, I'm going to go home for awhile. I'm going to wear sleeveless dresses, drink wine in public, and eat bacon for breakfast every day. But I'll be back in a couple of months, and I hope you'll wait for me. Me, and the rest of your expat wives...I can't get through this alone.