My Boyfriend is My Roommate is My Boyfriend

IMG_3357.JPG

  • I’m a slob who was raised in the household of a clean freak.  I learned to keep my mess to my room, a trend that would follow me through college — when I had only a side of a room — to my first apartment where only the rooms that guests would see were consistently clean.
  • My boyfriend is my roommate in the most explicit terms. We share a room, a bed, and sometimes, a blanket.
  • Since he’s the one working right now, I’ve commandeered our home as my domain.
  • I have an unofficial cleaning schedule that harks back to teenage years in my mother’s home: Saturday morning, the bathroom gets a good cleaning, and the laundry is done. Sunday is for grocery shopping. Vacuum as needed, and not needed. Chase the dog around the living room. Do not skip vacuuming the stairs.

  • My mother would be surprised and happy to know that I put my clothes in the hamper, I rarely leave dishes overnight, and I turn off lights when I leave a room.
  • Trash is the man’s realm. Always.
  • Recycling is the responsibility of whomever topples the last beer bottle — an ill-placed Jenga block.
  • My grandmother once told me I would never meet a man because my room wasn’t clean. I was 26 years-old.
  • Is there any fight more brutal and savage in a straight relationship than the convenience or inconvenience of the toilet seat being up?
  • I have, on more than one occasion, sat my bare ass in the cold water of the toilet bowl.
  • I don’t turn on the light in the middle of the night.
  • Living together and having premarital sex together are the only ways I’ve ever decided exactly how much I love a man. Otherwise, I sit on the fence.
  • My boyfriend is my roommate is my boyfriend. I spend most days waiting for him to come home.
  • And when he comes home, I wish he would go somewhere else.
  • Living with another person is like a dance, elegant or graceless, depending on the day or the moment, requiring energy and commitment.
  • In the last days of summer, we tend to occupy the balcony and stare at the leaves of the tree that blocks our view of the pool and the buildings around us. We drink beer and talk about the news, or impending weather.
  • I toss out holey boxer briefs and fold the rest, because TJ prefers folded underwear, which makes little to no sense to me, but I do it because I love him and that’s what he likes.
  • There are days when I cannot imagine living with another person for the rest of my life. What is this madness created by societal expectations and upheld by the continuance of the patriarchy?!? But as I’m saying exactly that to TJ, and wine is sloshing over the rim of my glass, he just smiles.
Advertisements

3 thoughts on “My Boyfriend is My Roommate is My Boyfriend

  1. “Living with another person is like a dance, elegant or graceless, depending on the day or the moment, requiring energy and commitment.” Yes.
    “And when he comes home, I wish he would go somewhere else.” Also, yes 😉

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s