Everything I Need to Know I Learned from Dungeons & Dragons (24 page)

“Besides, I don't know where to put anything,” he said.

“Well … things like clothes can go in the bedroom. Razors and toothbrushes generally go in the bathroom. I usually put books on bookshelves, but that's just me.”

“Ha, ha,” he laughed. “It would be nice to have a drawer. Maybe some closet space. But that's just me.”

“Umm … I, and the seven black garbage bags full of clothes I brought to a consignment store, find that morally offensive.” There is a perfectly good drawer in the bedroom just waiting for him to toss some socks and gym shorts in. What an ingrate!

“Okay,” he smiled, putting his headphones on and returning to the blog he was reading. “In a bit.”

“Well,” Judy asked one week into our cohabitation. “Did he move out yet?”

“No, but if he wanted to it would be supereasy seeing as his boxes are still packed.”

“Do you think his inability to get settled is his subconscious way of saying this was a terrible idea?”

I hadn't thought of that until now. “That's almost as terrible as my mother even suggesting it,” I said. “Oh wait, did Dr. Phil say that? Because then I can totally dismiss it.”

“I just mean,” she continued, “that living with someone isn't easy. Especially your first time. You're a late bloomer. This should have been done in your twenties when you didn't have standards or the income to afford such a robust wardrobe.”

“Yeah, sorry. I totally screwed up by buying my own home and investing in my future instead.”

“There is a way to make the transition easier,” she said in the same manner someone on Canal Street might approach you with a lead on tickets to Broadway's hottest show or this season's must-have Louis Vuitton bucket bag. “If you're interested.”

“Not interested.”

“It just takes seven easy steps.”

“Stay away or I'll call the police.”

“I'm telling you, Oprah's a believer. And look how long she and Steadman have been together!”

“
We're fine!
” But I couldn't mask the anxiety and pessimism I was feeling. I sounded like the flight attendant who got hip checked by the beverage cart and burst out crying on a very turbulent ride to Chicago.

“Well, I hope so,” she said as she sighed. “This could be it for a while.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Oh, why do I bother?

“You know that old saying,” she said. “About not buying the cow because the milk is so cheap?”

Yeah, I knew the saying. I hear it about four times a day now. Even heard it before I was old enough to live by myself let alone with a significant other. I chose to let it slide.

“Maybe I should just unpack the boxes,” I suggested. “You know, as kind of a housewarming present?”

“Don't you dare! I mean, unless you want maidservant to be added to your resume. Once you pick up after him, he'll always expect you to.”

“That's ridiculous! He doesn't expect nor want me to act like his nanny. He's a grown-up. He can take care of himself.”

“Well, sure he
can
, but he probably doesn't want to. Your father and I went to Lake George for a vacation right after we were married and I made the mistake of picking up his wet bathing suit and hanging it on the doorknob. Do you know to this day he's never been able to pick a wet bathing suit up off the floor? It's like he's
physically unable
to.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” I said, hanging up.

Truthfully, I was worried. Sure, there were plenty of good reasons to move in together, but maybe we should have waited until we had a bigger place. I mean, 700 square feet isn't a lot of room when you're two adults and two pets. Maybe the reason we liked each other so much was because the novelty hadn't worn off yet. Was Judy right? Was I just cheap milk?

“Wasn't part of the reason you moved in together so that you could save money to get a bigger place?” Jodi asked on our way around Green Lake. Thankfully the snow and ice were gone and some of my regular routines could resume.

“It was, but that was before realizing I'm not able to cohabitate.”

“Who said you're not able to cohabitate?” she asked. “Did Bart say that? I'll kill him!”

“No, Judy. And not so much said as implied. I'm too old for this crap. Too set in my ways. You know, a long time ago, before we were even dating, Bart mentioned an article he read about a married couple who lived in Manhattan. They both had their own apartments and didn't want to get rid of either so they lived separately during the week and together on
weekends. We both thought that was a great idea and we
had
that! Why did we have to go and mess it up?”

“It's not messed up,” Jodi said. “It's just
new.
You'll get used to each other.”

“I know. I'm trying not to get on his case about every little thing but it makes me feel like those poor people who are still awake during surgery and can't make any sound or movement to let the doctors know. It's like
oh, look, he's using
my
towel again!
Shut up! Or
I'm pretty sure that old wok is going to leave a rust stain on my countertops!
Don't say anything! Just get a potted plant to cover it when guests come over!”

“You know what motivates me to come here and work out?” Jodi asked.

“The onion rings and peanut butter milkshakes we always get on our way home?”

“No. New gym clothes. I actually look forward to putting them on. And seeing as I refuse to be one of those people who think it's okay to run errands and go out to lunch in anything that contains more than 10% Spandex, I can only justify wearing them to work out.”

“Sitting in my parked car on a dark cul-de-sac eating onion rings and chugging milkshakes doesn't count as going out to lunch, does it?”

“Please. Anyway, my point is maybe you could buy him some nice hangers or a new laundry basket to inspire him to pick up his clothes.”

“Or he could get inspired by the ghost of Joan Crawford and use those hangers against me.”

“True,” she said. “In that case, get padded ones.”

“What's wrong with my hangers?” Bart asked, pointing to the tubular ones that lay in a pile at his feet.

“I don't know, but I'm assuming something has to be. Otherwise you'd use them.” Then I told him Judy's theory about me picking up after him and Jodi's about enticing him with nice things.

“Thank Jodi for looking out for me and tell Judy to quit worrying,” he said. “I'm very happy we're living together.”

“Aren't you eager to settle in? Stop living out of a suitcase like you're some washed-up country singer desperate to get a gig?”

Admittedly, I'm the same person who unpacks her suitcase in a hotel even if I'm only there for one night. I enjoy nesting. So sue me.

Bart studied the closet. “Doesn't matter what I hang my clothes on if there's no room to put them,” he muttered.

“You have all this room right … here.” I moved my clothes over to show him the space perfectly suitable for his possessions.

“That's it?” he asked. “That's my space? Oh sure, that'll work. If I were a Ken doll!”

“Very funny. You just need to use the right hangers. That's why I got you these!”

In case you are wondering, there are such things as the
right
hangers. They're the ones covered in that fake suede that grips your clothes without snagging them. They're way thinner than the tubular ones and therefore can grant you up to 13% more closet space. Try them and love them or I'll give you your money back. (Just kidding. Seriously. Please don't ask me for any money.)

Bart again looked at his discarded tubular hangers on the floor. “But what am I supposed to do with these?” he asked.

“I don't know,” I said. “Maybe save them for our kids?”

It was 8:13 a.m., eight minutes out of the window of acceptable departure time to guarantee an on-time arrival at work (barring any accidents or blinding sunshine; Seattle drivers hate driving in the sun). We were running dangerously close to a guaranteed late arrival and yet I couldn't seem to leave.

“Ready, Buddy?” Bart asked.

“Almost,” I said, brushing toast crumbs into the palm of my hand before shuttling them to their new home in the kitchen garbage can. Judy would disagree with this action, believing I have forever shut the door on Bart sweeping up his own toast crumbs, but I took my chances. It's not exactly hard work, which is why I can't for the life of me understand how
someone
totally ignores these crumbs day after day. That is if you count “adding to the pile” as ignoring. But I wasn't going to mention it.

“Just leave it,” Bart said, which has become his motto.

“I can't,” I told him, which has become mine. “Sadie will smell them and try to get on the table and knock over your computer and notebooks and dirty water glasses and little piles of papers. And what if glass gets on the floor and Zelda steps on it and gets her paws all cut up and needs a visit to the vet which of course will be after-hours so add on $500 right there and all of that could have been avoided if
you just cleaned up your toast crumbs.
”

I swear I wasn't going to mention it.

“Really?” he asked, his halfsmile contradicting the sarcasm in his voice. “A few scattered crumbs and we're out $500?”

“At least. That's just the after-hours fee.”

“All because of my toast crumbs?”

That
was ridiculous. Even I knew that.

“It's not just because of the toast crumbs. It's the water glasses. We only have ten glasses! Eight of them are on various end tables, nightstands, coffee tables, and bathroom sinks. Do you really need to take every sip of water out of a different glass?”

“I'll wash them. It's not a big deal.”

“You're right. Washing them isn't a big deal. We have a dishwasher! But you're not washing them. You're leaving them everywhere! I had to use a measuring cup to swallow my vitamin today!”

He laughed.
Laughed!
“That's very resourceful. Now let's get going, or we'll be late for work.”

“I don't want to be resourceful,” I said, filling Zelda's and Sadie's water bowls. “I want to drink water out of a glass like a normal adult. Pretty soon I'll be sharing with these two.”

“If you want to act like a normal adult then you should grab your lunch and go to work. Ready?”

“Yes. Wait. Is that a light on in the bedroom?”

“I don't know. Maybe,” he said smiling.

“Is that your reading light?”

“Probably. Whatever. I'll get it later.”

“Later is nine hours from now. Is anyone going to be reading while we're gone?” We look at Sadie and Zelda, who look at us like a couple of teenagers seconds away from an unsupervised weekend. I can just imagine Sadie rolling in a massive bully stick while Zelda speed dials her catnip connection. Nope. No reading going on here.