I just read this post over at Jez’s blog, and it got me thinking about Red and I. Red and I have lived together for a year and a half, and I would have trouble calling a place home if she weren't in it.
But it wasn't always that way.
At first, we lived in a smaller place and neither of us ever had our own space. In fact, the place we lived in was so small, that when you closed the front door, the doorknob got in bed with you. And I liked it. It was in those first six months that I realized that living together is TOTALLY different from sleeping over. Even sleeping over every night.
It took quite a while, and two new places, for us to finally get into a good rhythm. A rhythm where we didn’t keep the neighbors awake all night with our yelling. A rhythm where I realized that she’s not just my girlfriend, she’s a person. A rhythm where she realized that I’m a total asshole, and that’s one of the reasons she loves me. A rhythm nation.
We’ve had our ups and downs, our trials and tribulations, our victories and defeats, our hits and misses, our smiles and frowns, our Dean Martins and our Jerry Lewises. Hell, I’ve broken my share of plates, and she’s, well, she’s watched me break my share of plates. And we came through it in the end.
And now she’s wearing a ring that I bought on sale. And we’re getting married in less than four months. And my life is going to be as wonderful as Wonder-Boy wondering if he can carve a statue of Wonder-Woman out of Wonder-Bread.
I guess what I'm saying is that living together has, at different times, been the best and the worst thing to happen to our relationship. I can't blame anyone for not being sure about taking that step, no matter how committed you are to each other.
It’s a big fucking step.
But don't read too much into it if your significant other isn’t sure about sharing an address: Sometimes talking about marriage is easier than sharing a TV remote.