All in all, it’s great. But as with any new endeavor, there’s going to be a learning curve. For me, it’s been discovering the ins and outs of a male’s daily life.
In the list of adjectives commonly used to describe me, “athletic” and “sporty” are rightfully absent. I may power walk on a sunny day or sprint through a sidewalk sale, but you won’t catch me losing sleep over the NBA playoffs.
For some reason my 27-inch Sylvania TV circa 2002 was vetoed during the packing process, and since moving in together, we are now sharing his flat screen. And so my knowledge of sports statistics has grown exponentially.
I can now name the starting lineup for the Chicago Bulls, and the other day I actually walked into the living room and caught myself saying, “Oh, that’s Urban Meyer, right?”
This is information I don’t care to know, but it’s impossible not to absorb it when the coverage is never-ending. I was legitimately on suicide watch during the NFL draft. Four days with six hours of televised draft picks plus highlights and analysis was cruel and unusual punishment for a girl who prides herself on “Grey’s Anatomy” and reality TV.
It’s no news flash that boys are gross, and even after six months of dating, I was painfully aware of what I was signing up for. But what’s struck me now that we live together is my immunity to it. OK, immunity might be a strong word, but I’m certainly tolerant.
I recently received a midweek 3 a.m. phone call from my sister that startled us both. But as I scrambled to silence my phone like a normal person, he stirred and farted. Twice. Loudly. The act was so familiar that it went unacknowledged, but in hindsight, it was altogether disgusting.
I never thought I’d come to a point in my life where I needed to find a bathroom accessory to house and disguise magazines and matches. I’m not kidding.
While it takes me two hours to get ready to go out, it’s just insulting to witness how simple a male’s getting-ready process is. In the time it takes him to shower, change and maybe shave, I’ve managed to blow dry a third of my hair.
Meanwhile, he squeezes in a nap, checks his e-mail and has a few cocktails while I finish steps four through 15. So not fair!
But for every trivial gripe I’ve shared, there are a dozen perks. He DVRs my favorite shows when I forget and even finds new programs that he thinks I might like and records those too. I essentially have a live-in iTunes genius, but for TV.
He does my laundry and folds it exactly the way I like. Mind you, “the way I like” is compulsive and probably totally annoying to someone who keeps most of his laundry in a pile on the floor.
I have someone to investigate scary noises, open tightly sealed jars and even change light bulbs in hard to reach places. But these are all secondary to the fact that I have a companion and a confidant; someone to share and enhance my day-to-day to life.
Truthfully, the pros of living together far outweigh the cons. And I would not have made the decision to cohabitate if I didn’t feel it was the right one. But as someone who lived alone for five years, having a roommate was an enormous step, but having a male one has undoubtedly been an eye opener!
Category: Dating and Relating