Hannah tells me that people ask her what it’s like to live with a boy.
She says that this picture sums it up best:
This is me, in the bathroom, running the laser engraver.
There’s a pile of my laundry on the floor next to my side of the bed. Until she explained to me that the second drawer in the kitchen is for the sharp utensils, I couldn’t ever find the scissors. The third drawer has ladles and whisks and such. The top drawer has the cutlery. It’s the only drawer I’ve gotten a grasp of.
I like to let the sink fill up before things in the dishwasher. She prefers to put items in individually. I organize the dishwasher when I put the dishes in it. She doesn’t. We agreed early on that if I’m going to complain, I should just do it myself. So, I keep my mouth shut. She does the laundry at least once a day, mixing all manner of clothing items of various materials and colours. I’ve not run out of clean underwear, socks, or t-shirts since we started living together.
I do often follow through on an urge to poke her, anywhere really but I usually aim for an orifice. Sometimes, I just lick her cheek because I thought about doing it. Of course, I give her a little pat on the bottom every time I walk by.
Somehow, though, this is the picture that best sums things up.
