For those who are married or currently just cohabiting with their significant other, the overall trepidation of the first period of living with your partner might be a bygone memory. It might be to a point right now that the thought of coming home to an empty dwelling or to a roommate that’s just a friend is so passe, it almost becomes a story of yore. Well, if that’s the case for you, allow me to take you back to maybe those first few weeks of domestic bliss. Those times when excitement of spending time with your special friend and building something together begins to wane and you try to mask the fear of immediately going from this…
To this…
My relatively brand new relationship recently took a rather large step/risk. My new girlfriend’s cousin, whom she lives with, was going to Europe for 3 weeks and I was asked if perhaps I would like to stay there over that period of time. It wasn’t by any means on the same level or category of seriousness as marriage or having a baby, but considering this particular union was in it’s infancy, spending the first 1/3 of your companionship under the same roof with no buffer has two endings: the potential of movin’ in, or the necessity of movin’ on. Which one would this end with? I wasn’t really sure either.
This, also a possibilitySo aside from the “can we get along for this prolonged chunk of time” contention, I failed, at first, to consider the details. Things like, she has no dishwasher. So every spoon, cup, and plate, if not cleaned almost immediately, is evidence and maybe a bit of foreboding, that I might be slobbish in future. Also, the dog needs to be taken care of in her absence. The cats need to be fed and litter cleaned. Because of the animals, vacuuming is required quite frequently, and absolutely, positively, NO CLOTHES ON THE FLOOR!
All of these tasks and minor considerations notwithstanding, the transition was remarkably smooth and issue free. I packed a bag, was given a key, and thus began the domestic bliss I was sure would fertilize this sapling of a romance into a strong, redwoodian trunk-like affiliation of affection. With a hopeful, excited air I strode into the domicile to begin the three weeks of stayin at my girlfriends. I had been away with girls before (granted, only for maximum 4 days straight) so I figured it was just those experiences times 5. No big deal. Plus, sex. Like, whenever. Seriously, whenever. That’s good things. What could possibly be tough about this?
Then I remembered the bathroom. The one bathroom. Call me immature, and yell at me to grow up, but I’m still not one hundred about using the bathroom after my girl does. Or, for that matter, having her use it after me. This was going to take some getting used to. But, after a while, I became more comfortable and accepting of the fact that she is in fact a human, and she can’t be sexy ALL the time. Okay, meaningless crisis number one sorted out and beaten. What’s next?
Her neighbour, Miguel, was excited about our progress also.
Well, misunderstandings abound. I was under the impression that this here deal was gonna be somewhat of a quasi-vacay for this guy. Limited responsibilities, new relationship perks on a daily basis and at a close proximity, and sex whenever. When-ever. But no. Baby girl had plans and jobs that needed to be done around the house. By the end of the stay, I had hung two sets of blinds, planted a garden in the backyard, cleaned and scrubbed her bbq, and shampooed her rugs. Then we would make dinner, have some drinks, smoke a joint, and pass out watching Intervention. This was some serious house playing.
Luckily, the potential of the two of us getting on each-others nerves was temporarily interrupted by a much needed and always awesome cottage weekend with the boys (as evidenced
here). A perfect little comma in our domestic sentence. It was great timing too. Sometimes, tempers flared a little. Mostly mine.
For example, coming home from work one morning, I was expecting to be met in her backyard by her and the dog for a cigarette and an open door. Walking around to the back, they weren’t there. Okay fine, I would walk all the way around the complex to the front door and open it from there because she’s obviously still sleeping, I mean it’s 730 am. I get to the door, slide my key in and turn til it clicks. Placing my hand on the doorknob, I realize she had locked that from the inside making any entry into the house through that door impossible from the outside. Getting a little perturbed at this point. Tired, hungry, and sweaty. Where was she? I knock. No answer. I call. Voicemail. I knock again. No answer. I call again. Voicemail. I am about to turn my fist to prepare for some good ol’ door poundin’ as my temperature begins to spike, when she opens the door and smiles. I’m about to turn into dick-mode and demand to know why I had been made to wait, when I am smacked in the face by a familiar and delicious fragrance. My face softens and my anger cools down as I notice what is awaiting my return home…
You can't stay mad at baconAfter that, I decided patience and some steady nerves was one way of making this work. I’d need to remember that this thing is not just about me, but that there is like a whole nother person involved. Look at that! Learnin’ stuff about makin’ things work all the time. Just tackling all these problems head on and for the most part, sorting them out and getting through them. Doin’ all right so far.
Miguel’s constant encouragement was essential.All in all, the experience was enjoyable and fun, low-key and low-drama, and enlightening as well as educating. We both have a long way to go mind you. There was no fights about money or anything important. No kids and no real stresses to complicate our relationship. However, for a first kick at the domestic can, I’d say we passed with our sanity in tact and a stronger union as a result. I’ll still never understand why she has to wash clothes inside out but I’ll let it go for now. As long as breakfast is on the table!
