A Girl...

Walk a Mile in My Socks

The workday is winding down and instead of looking forward to spending the evening with Simon, I'm looking forward to spending the evening alone with a house full of groceries. Simon has involved himself in a pickup jazz trio (in bold violation of the One Band Practice Night Per Week rule), so I get to kick it with the furpants and eat every last Nestle Crunch Bar if I want to.

After an injury-filled month away from our running routine, we're back in like Flynn for June, so I feel a leeeetle bit bad downing sticks of ice cream when I know very well how many turns around the lake it takes to work that off (832). And perhaps if I weren't scheduled to move a couch down four and a half flights of stairs and then up another one and half at midnight tonight, I might take a jog by myself this evening--as Simon's doing right this minute--but I hardly think that's necessary what with all the couch hoisting and heavy-ice-cream-stick lifting in my near future.

The couch we're relocating is Teddy's, not mine, but talks of the Great Cohabitation of 2006 are in the works. As soon as we find Stan a new, loving home with a toasty bed and liver treats, I'll make the move to Simon's place, and perhaps that will be the big push we need to successfully enter respectable adulthood, which in our case means picking up dirty laundry from the hallway instead of just stepping over it for months at a time, as well as eating more than 20 percent of the perishables in the fridge before they sprout independent ecosystems in their leafy recesses. Living in two places is rough, and it seems we're never on top of dishes or vacuuming or eating at least one serving of vegetables a week. We're both looking forward to consolidating and simplifying and not getting dressed in the morning only to discover that all the clean underwear is in the other apartment.

Last week Simon came home wearing a pair of blue gym socks that he'd retrieved from the living room floor earlier that morning. And who had left them on the living room floor the night before? Why, it was me. I put them there after I wore them all day at work and then after work during our run. Oh, and I wore them to work the day before too. From the Community Sock Drawer to my feet, to the bedroom floor, to my feet again, to the living room floor, to Simon's feet, and finally into the hamper. Yes, we are triple-wearing socks between the two of us, and am I wrong or is that a sign of the apocalypse?

As we talk about a future in which we live happily in sin together, we vow to make laundry more of a priority. That and put away all the CDs still in bags from Simon's September move. And share litterbox cleaning duties. And put the Star Wars action figures into a box with my ceramic cat tchotchkes and bury it in the yard. And think up a million and one ways to spend the extra $700 at the end of the month. Nestle Crunch Bar, anyone?