Living with a Boy

I recently started texting certain friends with installments of what I like to call “Living with a Boy”, or in other words, snapshots of the moments of sheer speechlessness that are sometimes associated with living with a boy.

Example: “Living with a Boy Chapter 53: Entire house smells like mini tacos.”

Or, Example: “Living with a Boy Chapter 4: soaking his shoes in Coca Cola to remove bar floor gunk.”

Why do I preface my texts to friends with chapter names? Your question is beside the point.

Don’t get me wrong, JC is lovely, wonderful and pure preciousness. He’s also such… a boy.

Chapter 17:  Any opportunities to turn apartment into dorm building are seized. 

In a way I see where they are coming from here. College was a pretty rad time. And maybe making the place feel a little more frat house and a little less Pottery Barn helps the male psyche.

Do you guys remember in college how if you were unfortunate enough to leave your clothes in the dryer a millisecond too long, the freshman in line behind you would pull the old dry & dash on you? And you’d find a clump of your clothes on the nearest surface?

Welp, I came home from work yesterday to find my clothes from the dryer tossed haphazardly into a basket beside the dryer. JC was not home – a wise man. His message to me was received loud and clear, not dissimilar to those freshman girls from days past: You might think you run this joint, but think again.

Oh lessons.