Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Getting Domestic

There is steep learning curve when making the move from bachelor pad to domestic partnership with your significant other. It’s tough transitioning from a ten bedroom, downtown rental stocked with the finest in canned beer and day old takeout to a suburban ranch with two bedrooms, a Brita, and a teakettle. Both houses do have character, albeit one from a Jane Austen novel and the other from a National Lampoon movie.
Not even growing up with sisters can completely compare a man for moving in with his bride-to-be. It's not worse, just different. For example, I now get to use a bathroom with a hand towel that has been changed within the last six months, the couch is rarely boarding a stranger from a Tuesday night after party, and I have yet to come eye to eye with a mouse in the kitchen as I frequently did while residing at the Chateau de Bachelors.
All in all, it has been a welcome change, but not without its bumps. Who knew rinsing a dish isn't a good enough cleansing to authorize its reuse, and was anyone aware that a curling iron can't be put back in the vanity (a new word I learned, by the way) for SEVERAL hours? We are different animals, guys and dolls, and we practice divergent grooming regimens as a result. B introduced me to body wash and the “poof”. Hesitant at first, I tried a few showers lathering with the Koosh ball turned washcloth. Low and behold the experience was a joy. Not only does the poof improve rinsing efficiency, but body washes come in a variety of flavors that trump Dial’s waxy aroma. I now leave the house with a newfound confidence knowing my 2,000 parts smell of vanilla, tangerines, and honey. Thanks, honey!


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