Cohabiting, or My Shit is better than yours

Few things in life are as stressful and self-depreciating as moving in with the boyfriend. At some point in life most of us will have a roommate; however the roommate above all others is the one you actually “room” with. Deciding to move in with the man you love is the simple part, but getting the man you love to love your baggage is a bit trickier. And by baggage I don’t mean the fact that you pick your toenails in bed or your phobia of large flat screen TVs; more like the baggage that is literally bags and bags of stuff.

In a normal cohabiting environment you would unpack your things, put them in your designated space and pray that your roomie is neither klepto nor pyro maniac. With men, decidedly one you’ve been intimate with and have loving feelings, it isn’t that simple. Your abundance of things is problematic, downright unnecessary and will, if not dealt with, cause strain in your relationship. And if you’re anything like me, your stubbornness and unwillingness to edit your things will also cause strain.

With a move pending soon, discussions of what’s necessary, what’s unnecessary, what’s worn, what hasn’t been worn has been common fare for the beau and me. While parting with a pair of worn black boots seems ludicrous to me, his practical nature says to chuck them, and a vicious cycle ensues. This is not going to be pretty. I’m instantly transported to Sex and the City (please forgive the reference) episode “The Good Fight” when Carrie and Aidan moved in and they fought over her useless stuff, his useless stuff and her, may I say, very fabulous Roberto Cavalli outfit.

While I don’t possess any manner of Cavalli, I do have pieces that I’ve acquired that while I don’t wear often, I most certainly think about wearing. The idea of having to part with them makes me cringe and gives me uncomfortable BGs. And while I know that I may have to cut down all of the things I’ve accumulated for the sake of our union, it doesn’t make it better. I’ve loved some of my clothes and shoes longer than I’ve known my boyfriend.

I’ve loved some of my clothes and shoes longer than I’ve known my boyfriend.

And while I wish that my love interest had the same existential crisis; he’s simply not a pack rat like moi.

I guess it all boils down to whether you’re willing to make the compromise that relationships require. Can I part with a bright red floor length gladiator dress that has never seen the light of day, so that I can enjoy the light of day in my new place? Or is a black studded sweater dress more coveted than my Man Du Jour? Just like clothes, I’ve got lots of questions and much like your true love, there’s only one real answer.

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