Moving In With Men: Gird Your Loins

"You're worried about the silverware?" He blurted it out like an accusation. I was being petty. It's true. I can't deny it. You see, we're in the process of moving in together. And I've never done this -live with a guy before. OK. That's not exactly true. I've "lived with guys" before...as in my roommates. And I never had any problems with that. Probably because Ron, (one of my previous housemates) had come up with the genius idea of having a maid come in every other week and clean the deep stuff. She'd wash the floors, and vacuum the whole house, including our rooms if we left the door open and the floor was clear of stuff. She'd even clean our windows and window sills so they never accumulated that gross schmutz that most people seem to have. And when the house was sparkly and clean, she'd go into the garden and cut some fresh flowers, leaving them in cute little bouquets all over the house...in the bathroom, on the dining room table, in the kitchen, even in my bedroom. I loved it! The main reason that we had a maid though was to avoid arguments. The kind that would arise when one roommate felt that they were doing more of the gross work than the others. I think this was particularly helpful in the bathroom area. With the maid, none of us ever had to scrub the tile, or for that matter...scrub the toilet. This can get particularly gross living with men, as they seem to sometimes *miss* and hit the floor next to the toilet. And my fears of how to *diplomatically* handle these situations sans maid service are starting to come up. I'm afraid of disrupting "The Dude Palace". I've got to get over this.

I honestly like living with guys. Apart from the occasional gross surprise that men seem to bring. Like cutting one on your foot while he sits down on the couch and you *naively* play footsie, teasingly nestling it underneath his oh-so-cute tushie, and then brrrrpppp. Insta-foot-massage of the *unwanted* kind (to which he vehemently denies ever happened.) But my foot knows the truth! And there's also the dude clutter, of video games, and movies, and dirty plates and glasses everywhere, which somehow seems worse than when *I* leave the same things around. Maybe because my stuff is interesting to me and theirs for the most part, is not. I have no interest at present in learning a new coding language or on perusing a Chemistry text book. But I like having these things somewhere in the living room. Just as to where is the question at hand? We've already established that the Cute Boy's family kitchen table will be the one we are using. And I like it. It's cute. It's oak. And it has a lot of good memories associated with it. It's one of the few family pieces of furniture he has actually. I like the idea of sitting down to dinner at it with him and the 'mates, and having house dinners.

You see...what I really want, more than anything, is that feeling of home. But I'd like *this* home to be a further evolution of my past ones. I want this one to be clean and inviting. Comfy and warm. Someplace that people really enjoy being. It's got the potential that's sure. And we'll get there. It's already an awesome house. And they've got most everything that a person could want by way of entertainment. I love being there and evening's spent in the living room are enjoyable. Scott and I take our dogs for walks or over to the nearby park to play fetch. I know I'm going to like being here. It's just lacking a woman's touch. I just get so hung up on the details. It actually IS important to me how my fork feels in my mouth. To the Cute Boy, this predilection that I have with nice silverware is weird. The oddly bent tines of his thin and tinny silverware seems fine to him and every one else in the house (all dudes for the record). But to me, it detracts from the sensuous feeling of pasta and cream sauce gliding over the tongue. I like to *experience* my food. It's like breathing or laughing to me. It's a part of every day life that I relish and enjoy. A while ago, I made a minor investment in what I like to think of as "nice silverware". I was at the downtown Crate and Barrel, near Union Square with a friend of mine and I just decided that if I was going to do it...I better just do it now. I had been eyeing the same set of silverware for oh...the last 7 or 8 years. And it seemed silly to *not* buy it. Every so often I would compare my red plastic picnic ware from Target, to the set I secretly desired, and I'd imagine how much better the food would feel if it was on the sturdy and chic set from CB. For the record, it did feel better. So now, naturally, I want to bring over my set and use it. Which isn't a problem, I'm sure. The problem is me again. I think about the janky bent tines and bent spoon handles they have...or how they will sometimes use butter knives as ad hoc tools to open things with, and I cringe.

Will they do this to my flatware? -Probably.

Won't they see the obvious superiority of these instruments and treat them accordingly? With respect? -Don't set your heart on it.

The silverware is just a small thing. This fear of living with men goes all over the place. And honestly, I need to just get over it. I need to love the things I love and use them, and not worry about weather or not they will break -because they will. Eventually, everything breaks or wears out. Entropic decline is the way of all things. And I've just got to make peace with that fact and get on with the business of living and enjoying. The *people* are what's important...not preventing wear and tear on my things. ...But it would be nice if my forks  could survive this move.