Monday, July 6, 2009
I gave Sparta this Anne Taintor card to celebrate our first week of living together sans killing each other. While it maybe wasn't a typical week, what with the mid-week Canada Day celebration and sleepover in my hometown, I still feel like we deserve a pat on the back for not immediately getting all up in each other's space.
It's definitely going to take some getting used to having someone to consult about what to eat/watch/listen to in the evenings, but the clever fella has already set himself up with rugby two nights a week and I'll be off to dance at least once a week, so I think we'll survive.
One major plus to the end of this long-distance thing is that when I tell him all about my day, I don't feel the urge to fly into a rage when he greets some anecdote by nodding silently because I can SEE him and know that he's not watching TV on mute or something.
And so far? No horrifying discoveries. Although I did notice one new little curiosity.
Despite being all over wiping down the counters and the stovetop and doing the dishes, he is bizarrely strongly against drying or letting me dry said dishes. He likes to pile as many items as possible on the dish rack and then leave them to air dry. Apparently that's how you know the dishes are done: when nothing more will fit on the rack.
All these years I had been labouring under the misapprehension that the dishes are done when they are all clean, dry and in the cupboards. Nice try, mom and dad.
I, meanwhile, continue to be delightful and charming and completely quirk-free.
This weekend we had a chat about how long we've been "dating seriously." It turns out he has a very organized hierarchy for dating, and apparently was not aware that we have been in a "serious" relationship for as long as we have been. After trying to set him straight, I gave up and asked in exasperation if we are at least in a "serious" relationship now.
"It's even WORSE than that," he said. "We live together."
It's even worse.
He does know just what to say to a girl.