I have this fantasy where I live in a giant luxury
dorm condo complex and all my favorite people are my neighbors. I am surrounded by all my best friends and we win the lottery, quit our jobs and just laugh and drink champagne and walk barefoot through meadows. Or something like that.
I first started this daydream my sophomore year of college, when Anna and I lived next to two of our girlfriends. It was amazing – but short-lived, as the “economical” complex we had chosen was plagued by a panty bandit that spurred us to move – true story.
Anyway, I loved being able to walk to see friends, and know that I’d always have someone to hang out with and that a party could begin at a moment’s notice. We ate brownies or cereal for dinner and I never made my bed. I don’t know that we owned a vacuum and I had no idea what the word Swiffer meant. Glorious, I tell you.
I lived with a series of room mates after college and had a lot of adventures (and dramatic falling outs over absurd things). I always loved the comfort of having a full house. Especially because it quadrupled my wardrobe and provided endless junkfood.But, in time, we all grew up. And fell in love with boys. And then took the crazy wonderful step of living with said boys (and in my case: his dog, two snakes and sword collection).
People warned us that it was going to be so hard (I’m saying those words in a stupid voice in my head), and that we’d really be tested by cohabiting. Well – that never really happened, once the snakes miraculously disappeared…
Jim and I have now lived together for more than three years and I can honestly say he’s been a fantastic boyfriend, fiance and now husband. He somewhat begrudgingly plays the part of my former female room mates by: A) telling me I look fine no matter what I wear, B) eating Doritos with me as I simultaneously complain about feeling fat and C) taking turns cooking and cleaning.
I love my husband and my house, and am excited to come home everyday.
But man I do miss the extra outfit options.