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Guys are creatures of habit. You can bet that if you stop over his place and more than once you find him lying across the couch watching sports, this is a reflection of how he lives. And small tells like this can be critical guideposts when deciding to take the plunge and share living quarters with your guy.
This is not to say that all guys are like jungle animals who hunt, eat and then lay around until they get hungry again, but men have their own rhythms when it comes to their man caves and their idea of cohabitating with a woman. As always, your Guy’s Guy is in your service, so without further adieu, here are my five suggested considerations for women before shacking up.
A week and a half ago, I packed up my single girl apartment full of everything that represented ME, circa 2010-2013 and headed five miles east to a brand new apartment for my boyfriend and I to share. Having only a few weeks notice, I had to act fast. Luckily, or unluckily depending on how you think about it, I had already done this before (THIS being lived with a significant other), and had some experience with the process. Whether you’re a seasoned, serial cohabitator, or you’re considering taking the plunge of a co-lease for the first time, here are some tips I learned in the past few weeks:
Once you move past the awkward dating dance, and actually become intimate with another person, everything changes. At 28, I’ve dated enough guys to know the type of person I’m drawn to, the type of person I actually need and, most importantly, the type of person I want to be. But, it doesn’t end there. When I finally found a person I’m compatible with, a whole new set of complications arose.
I moved in with my boyfriend a little over a year ago – he was my very first domestic partner, and I his. Before I made the plunge, my seemingly romantic decision was shot down by countless cryptic warnings on the woes of living with a guy. “You will constantly be cleaning up after his disgusting habits!” He is neater than I am. “He will expect you to cook for him all the time.” He cooks for me regularly. “He will try to control everything, even what type of peanut butter you buy.” We both prefer almond butter.
So you’ve finally decided to move in together. You’re likely looking forward to living with the person you already spend so much time with. It’ll be great to finally call the same place ‘home’! You’ll cook together and have long, meaningful conversations over dinner! And that’s great — but there are also unexpected problems that come along with dating your roommate. This post at YourTango will (humorously) prepare you for the things nobody told you about living with your significant other.
“There’s a hole on the side of your head,” he says looking at me discerningly. There’s water streaming in my ear.
“No, that’s a chicken pox scar,” I say confidently, rinsing shampoo out of my hair.
“No,” he replies holding up a soapy finger. “That’s not a pox mark.”
“Yes it is. I’ve had it forever; I can’t believe you never noticed.”
“Heather, it’s a scab. It looks like you picked your face.”
I stop for a moment, letting the warm water run down my shoulders. I think about the current state of my forehead and remember that bananas underground pimple I smugly popped a few days earlier.
“Oh yeah, I picked it.”
We do our almost choreographed shower dance to switch places so that he is now under the water, and I am left out in the cold to shave my legs.
“I guess maybe we are ready to live together,” he says nonchalantly. “It feels more normal to be together than apart.”
The Gillette Turbo stops halfway up my calf…are we?
There comes a time in every couple’s relationship that forces them to evaluate whether they are ready for the next step: a lease is up.
And in my case, the stars aligned: both my and my boyfriend’s respective leases were set to end at the same time. Call it a coincidence or a conspiracy, the question was suddenly on the table: Should we move in together?
The first sign that the answer was “no” is that I didn’t even think about it as a possibility. I went to view an apartment and called my friend to tell her I found “The One.” Before I could tell her how many rooms (two!), she interrupts with the question I failed to even consider: “So are you guys going to move-in together or what?”
My first instinct was to laugh. (Sign #2). I snorted, really. I mean, we’ve only been dating 9 months – not even the length of a standard lease. And living together is something grown-up couples do. Not us. We’re still kids! Late 20s-year old kids!
So I answered with what felt right: “No, we’re not going to move in together yet.”
I was somewhat surprised by my answer. I adore my boyfriend; we get along famously, and we spend 6 to 7 nights a week together anyways. We are two peas, alternating nights between two pods. So why didn’t I want to merge into one?
As I mentioned before, the road to commitment is long and winding, and there are a lot of pitfalls that can get the best of even the most well intentioned couple. One of the most treacherous of pitfalls, in my mind, is the mess we’ve made of distinguishing between lovers and best friends. While the concept of lovers being your best friend is the stuff of country music legend, it doesn’t seem, to me, to be all that helpful as an organizing principle. The way I feel about my best friends is not the way that I feel about my boyfriend. That’s a good thing because, while Tim McGraw, with his rugged handsomeness and perfect twang, makes the idea awfully romantic, if your lover is your best friend, and your best friend is your lover, we have a problem with the way we define friendship.
The path to commitment is littered with the corpses of relationships that just didn’t work. Sometimes the people were wrong for each other, sometimes the timing was off, but if you look really closely, the strange thing you’ll notice about the path is that there is only one body present. Occasionally, a relationship ends because one person just loses their way. They stop at some point to smell a flower, and then they see a butterfly, and then they see a waterfall in the woods, and they just walk off. Nothing was wrong with the relationship, necessarily, but the people involved did not realize that they were on the same path to begin with. They sort of bumped into each other and enjoyed walking together so they just kept going. They never really discussed the path they were on because you know, they didn’t want to mess up the good thing they had. It just worked.
The other day, my boyfriend and I were just generally chatting about nonsense, and, as it often happens, a series of Lord of The Rings refs commenced. He said something about their being “one ring to rule them all,” and I followed up with something about throwing it into the fires of Mount Doom. AND THEN SOMETHING INSANE HAPPENED. He laughed, and said, “No, it’s Mordor!” I can’t really describe my reaction to something like this (I’m a little obsessed with LOTR so for him to deign to correct me on this point was beyond comprehension.) Nevertheless, I was like, no, MY LOVE – it’s obvi that the ring can only be destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom – the volcano from which it was forged. DUH! (Thank god we found each other, right?) He continued to challenge me, and a quick Google search was necessary to end it.
Oh Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson! He stole my heart with that fantastic 98º track at the end of Disney’s classic Mulan way back when, and her pop music inspired many a dance party alone in my room at 11pm in front of my full length mirror. I watched their relationship blossom and wither on MTV’s Newlyweds during my early, angsty, love stricken teenage years, and boy did that ever fuck me up. In retrospect, my first encounter with these two cemented this truth in my mind…
When you move in with your boyfriend before you’re ready, everyone fights and love dies.
Granted, that was definitely a helpful point of view for high school me who was much too young to be falling in love, and obviously stubborn enough to do it anyways. I am a twenty-something now, and have grown up and out of needing this precautionary mantra. However, even though I am currently in real love, the kind that is light in your heart, and never comes up for discussion, I still deeply feared moving in with my boyfriend. This limiting belief was probably not entirely created by Nick and Jessica, but lets have fun for a minute and see what emotional road blocks they Did graciously provide my psyche.
Newlyweds, or Barbie and Ken: The Dark Ages as I like to think of it, ran for three seasons. For those three years of my life, I, a highschooler avoiding Biology lab write-ups and reading The Canterbury Tales, watched Ken guzzle down beer, sit entranced in front of the TV, and call out Barbie’s dumb blonde bullshit. Just as my dreams of having a boyfriend and falling in love were ripening, all I could see were flashing WARNING signs reading, DO NOT LET THIS BE YOUR LIFE.
For those of us who grew up with the images of the princesses telling us that we should wait for our “Prince Charming” to come along, the reference to dreams and wishes is commonplace in reference to relationships. Snow White wished into her well, Cinderella informed us that a dream is a wish your heart makes, and Ariel’s heart-wrenching desire to be part of our world all led us to believe that if you want something badly enough, you’ll get it. And, for the princesses, a man was all they ever really wanted. They really are bad role models, aren’t they?
For the princesses, finding a man was the solution to all your problems: Prince Charming was the white knight: gallantly riding his brave steed to rescue us from our evil father/mother/sister/brother – whatever. And, for the princesses, that was the end of the story. You got a man, now your life was perfect. But, we were instead raised to be intelligent, self-sufficient women who don’t need rescuing and want more than just a man – we want to have it all (to the best of our abilities).
Herein lies the dilemma: we grew up believing in “happily ever after.” You meet the man, you walk down the aisle, and everything, as far as you know, just works. We never see Cinderella or Snow White negotiating the intricacies of daily life with Prince Charming. Real life and real relationships require a lot of work. As happy as I am about getting the boy, I can’t say I always know how to put everything else in context. How are we supposed to deal with everything that comes after?
When I first met my husband, he had just gotten a job that paid him more than double what he’d ever earned before (and almost quadruple what I made at the time). Since he rightfully felt no need to move out of the cheap little apartment he shared with an awesome roommate, he suddenly had a lot of capital to spare. He started doing things like taking three friends to a big-venue concert, or buying himself some spiffy designer duds, or giving twenty bucks to a homeless guy who’s cardboard sign he liked.
When we started dating, the same applied to me. Early on, he invited me on a snowboarding trip and, finding out I had no outdoor winter gear, bought me a whole Roxy outfit in one spree: baggy-cute pants, a jacket with all kinds of pockets, long underwear, mittens, socks. He also paid for the trip.
Perhaps all of us, freed from the constraints of a budget, would lavish gifts and experiences on our loved ones. But as the receiver, I felt weird.
I thought it was weird that I felt weird. I had been pretty spoiled growing up, and I’d never really gotten over wanting to be a princess. Even four years at a progressive liberal arts college hadn’t broken me of a serious penchant for rom-coms and secret-but-persistent dreams of living a life of luxury. It seemed at first, with this relationship, that I’d stumbled into both. Suddenly I got to go to nice bars and drink nice drinks and order three courses at fancy restaurants — all with a wonderful guy. Suddenly I had Tiffany jewelry and a dress from Anthropologie. I wasn’t very good at snowboarding (I was TERRIBLE at snowboarding), but I was good at drinking wine in a cozy lodge or lounging in the hot tub.
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