Today's post comes from a fellow blogger over at Stream of Consciousness. (I'm not sure if she wants me to use her name... and being an anonymous blogger myself, I'm very sensitive to this point!)
This little nugget is all about what life is like after you go from being boyfriend/girlfriend to being romantically-attached roommates.
WHOA. I am clearly not ready to live with anyone unless they poop in a litter box... and don't use my towels.
Enjoy!
*****
My boyfriend is the best. He’s got this amazingly deep voice, the perfect amount of facial hair and a six pack that is every girl’s dream. Not to mention that he treats me like a princess. 
I moved in with my prince 6 months ago. Since then, I’ve definitely seen the frog side of him.
I had great dreams of moving in with Jock (named for all of the hours of sports that we watch). We spent so much time together; and the thought of cooking and drinking wine together after work, waking up on a lazy Sunday morning to flip through the paper while sipping coffee and sharing chores sounded like bliss.
And that part is. But let me warn you, girls: your eyes will definitely open wide as soon as you start packing your boxes. Let me give you a few examples:
1. When we lived separately, we spent a lot of time at my place. His roommate was no picnic, and the less I saw her, the better. No time at his house=no time to pay attention to the stinky socks, the smelly gym bag or the much-handled basketball that he insisted on carrying around (it’s easier than renting one at the gym, apparently). Bottom line: I never knew he generated so much man musk.
2. I have always been nuts about my bath towels. They have to be soft, big and fluffy, totally dry and only used by me. My boyfriend doesn’t seem to comprehend this philosophy. My first strategy was to assign certain colored bath towels to him so that when two are hanging up in the bathroom, he knows which one to use. With that, he feigned ignorance and said that he never could remember which color towel was his. My next strategy was to hang my towel on the right side of the bar, his on the left. So far, this is working, but I can’t tell you how many times I have found MY towel as a soggy, crumpled mess on the bed. I will take him out the next time he does it.
3. I can only hope that if he and I ever get married, we have only girls. I have nightmares about the possibility of feeding boys who have the same appetite that he does. I have come home on so many occasions with a specific craving—Wheat Thins, ice cream, chocolate—only to find that he has finished whatever was left in our pantry. Seriously, I bought a box of Wheat Thins, and the next day, they were gone. One time, it took me 3 trips to the store to finally scrounge together all of the ingredients for some candy that I wanted to make, all because he would eat some portion of the ingredients when I wasn’t looking. When I finally did make the candy, guess who got the first bite?
4. Remember when your mom used to say that your dad was like one of her kids? My mom always said that, and in my naïve little world, I never believed that could be true. I mean, he’s an adult, so he has to be mature, right? WRONG. In all of the time we’ve lived together, Jock has opened my eyes to all of those things listed above. But my favorite is when he does one of those things on purpose. Oh yes, Jock will leave a towel on the bed; or drop his nasty gym clothes on the floor next to, no TOUCHING, the hamper instead of in it; and go into the kitchen and finish my favorite snack all for entertainment value. Apparently, I’m funny and cute when I’m miffed. Let me tell you, I do not want to be cute and funny. I would like to be scary and intimidating. Instead, when I respond to these pranks with questionable language and a hefty sigh, all I get is a laugh. How old is he--10 or 25?
To be fair, I must tell you at least one good thing that has come out of our cohabitation: I get a home-cooked meal every night. That’s right—he cooks, and it’s good. That princely move is enough to make up for all of the frogs I have to put up with.
I moved in with my prince 6 months ago. Since then, I’ve definitely seen the frog side of him.
I had great dreams of moving in with Jock (named for all of the hours of sports that we watch). We spent so much time together; and the thought of cooking and drinking wine together after work, waking up on a lazy Sunday morning to flip through the paper while sipping coffee and sharing chores sounded like bliss.
And that part is. But let me warn you, girls: your eyes will definitely open wide as soon as you start packing your boxes. Let me give you a few examples:
1. When we lived separately, we spent a lot of time at my place. His roommate was no picnic, and the less I saw her, the better. No time at his house=no time to pay attention to the stinky socks, the smelly gym bag or the much-handled basketball that he insisted on carrying around (it’s easier than renting one at the gym, apparently). Bottom line: I never knew he generated so much man musk.
2. I have always been nuts about my bath towels. They have to be soft, big and fluffy, totally dry and only used by me. My boyfriend doesn’t seem to comprehend this philosophy. My first strategy was to assign certain colored bath towels to him so that when two are hanging up in the bathroom, he knows which one to use. With that, he feigned ignorance and said that he never could remember which color towel was his. My next strategy was to hang my towel on the right side of the bar, his on the left. So far, this is working, but I can’t tell you how many times I have found MY towel as a soggy, crumpled mess on the bed. I will take him out the next time he does it.
3. I can only hope that if he and I ever get married, we have only girls. I have nightmares about the possibility of feeding boys who have the same appetite that he does. I have come home on so many occasions with a specific craving—Wheat Thins, ice cream, chocolate—only to find that he has finished whatever was left in our pantry. Seriously, I bought a box of Wheat Thins, and the next day, they were gone. One time, it took me 3 trips to the store to finally scrounge together all of the ingredients for some candy that I wanted to make, all because he would eat some portion of the ingredients when I wasn’t looking. When I finally did make the candy, guess who got the first bite?
4. Remember when your mom used to say that your dad was like one of her kids? My mom always said that, and in my naïve little world, I never believed that could be true. I mean, he’s an adult, so he has to be mature, right? WRONG. In all of the time we’ve lived together, Jock has opened my eyes to all of those things listed above. But my favorite is when he does one of those things on purpose. Oh yes, Jock will leave a towel on the bed; or drop his nasty gym clothes on the floor next to, no TOUCHING, the hamper instead of in it; and go into the kitchen and finish my favorite snack all for entertainment value. Apparently, I’m funny and cute when I’m miffed. Let me tell you, I do not want to be cute and funny. I would like to be scary and intimidating. Instead, when I respond to these pranks with questionable language and a hefty sigh, all I get is a laugh. How old is he--10 or 25?
To be fair, I must tell you at least one good thing that has come out of our cohabitation: I get a home-cooked meal every night. That’s right—he cooks, and it’s good. That princely move is enough to make up for all of the frogs I have to put up with.
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1 comment:
what about the farts and smelly poops, and hair everywhere, etc. We're a pain.
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