Living with a man…

I have lived with opposite sex before, though I’m not sure it counts. I used to live with a boy, once. He was weird. He did weird things like locking himself in the bathroom, hurling drying racks across the living room…oh and masturbating at his work colleges! But that’s a different story.

I have recently moved in with a man. A big, hairy, 6.4ft one. He opens doors for women and plays rugby. His smell is divine and he dances with me in the kitchen. I like him lots, so we moved in. 

I knew him pretty well before hand. We were friends, who turned into more when he took me on my first ever date. During this date I naively ordered the steak meant for two people…to myself. The bemused waiter told me I couldn’t have it. Man friend told the waiter I was having it. It was delicious. I was in love.

Now, still in love and 6 (or 10) pounds heavier we live together. STEAK FOR EVERYONE!

One of the reasons we get on so well and still spend 24/7 together (actually 24/7 as we work together. Our employer is truly LUCKY to have us) is that we are so alike. Born only a few days apart, even our star signs are the same. (Stop rolling your eyes, that stuff is freakily true!)

One problem I did not foresee however was that one element of our personalities which is, EXACTLY the same. I’m not sure what to call it but lets just say we are both ALPHAS, or at least we like to think we are.

The Alpha female and the Alpha male- can you imagine the shit that goes down in Ikea?  

Well, after one hellish argument which was, as all our arguments are, conducted with giggles of acknowledgement that this is indeed ridiculous, but through gritted teeth and slanted eyes that say “I’m not budging” we realised that this could get ugly.  (Either that or he realised he will never win. I think it’s the latter and so will you…he doesn’t have blog)

In an effort to overcome, we decided that the person who can’t be arsed the most will most likely give in first. So far, that works for us.

However, the big stuff settled, it still lingers in the acts of everyday, cohabiting life. Every now and again we pretend not to, but we find ourselves racing to the front door. I find myself carrying things twice my weight refusing help and we debate nightly just who is taking up the most room in bed. (HIM fyi. Big oaf)

Changing because you live with a man, or anyone, seems an impossible challenge for my fixed, Type A personality. Don’t get me wrong, we have adapted. I’m a little tidier and he has learnt to hoover but it’s more about tolerating each other. In our case its hard NOT to tolerate each other when we are BOTH fighting over who puts their key in the front door first.

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