If you google "living together expectations," one of the first few images that pops up is an engagement ring. Ha. Silly girls. You do not know someone until you live with them. Truth. When Justin and I got our first apartment together, we had different expectations:
Mine: Playing House
His: Sex on Demand
Most couples will agree; you tend to sink into the comfort zone. It took all of a week for Justin to start pantsing me. Beers would be cracked before 10 a.m. on weekends. Not that it's completely one-sided. The lacy, stringy underwear that I used to wear started slowly retiring their way back to the bottom of my underwear drawer. My disgusting eating habits of cookie dough and Doritos at 3 a.m. after bar close were exposed. My legs started looking like they belonged to a lumberjack feminist butch. That's like the sex kitten trifecta, right? Comfort zone just doesn't cut it. It's like a flagrant disregard for personal hygiene and courtesy with your significant other.
So what happened to the romance?
You tell me. I'm still trying to find it (along with other things, such as my allure and dignity). The best advice I can give others who are transitioning into the we-living arrangements is to keep it spontaneous. Surprises. Thoughtful gestures. Ladies, a razor perhaps?
Justin's idea of romance would probably include steak, a beer, and a sexual act involving my mouth. Super duper. His level of accuracy with romance resembles a 6-year-old kid.
Mine: Playing House
His: Sex on Demand
Most couples will agree; you tend to sink into the comfort zone. It took all of a week for Justin to start pantsing me. Beers would be cracked before 10 a.m. on weekends. Not that it's completely one-sided. The lacy, stringy underwear that I used to wear started slowly retiring their way back to the bottom of my underwear drawer. My disgusting eating habits of cookie dough and Doritos at 3 a.m. after bar close were exposed. My legs started looking like they belonged to a lumberjack feminist butch. That's like the sex kitten trifecta, right? Comfort zone just doesn't cut it. It's like a flagrant disregard for personal hygiene and courtesy with your significant other.
So what happened to the romance?
You tell me. I'm still trying to find it (along with other things, such as my allure and dignity). The best advice I can give others who are transitioning into the we-living arrangements is to keep it spontaneous. Surprises. Thoughtful gestures. Ladies, a razor perhaps?
Justin's idea of romance would probably include steak, a beer, and a sexual act involving my mouth. Super duper. His level of accuracy with romance resembles a 6-year-old kid.
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