I had to get out of the house. My boyfriend is moving in, part-time at first. But all his stuff is moving in full-time.
He had told me what time the movers would be at my house (Our house?). I had a knot in my stomach for most of the day. It wasn’t the fact that I was going to live with a man for the first time in years, but I was more than concerned that my pristine environment would be turned into some sort of frat house man cave.
I like clean, uncluttered spaces. I like contemporary furniture and art. I have nothing that lives and breathes in my house (except for me, my daughter and Miss Rosie II, our goldfish). My boyfriend’s favourite possession is his La-Z-Boy recliner (I’m not kidding). And … he loves plants. Plants!
He is bringing couches that are really comfortable. I don’t do comfortable couch. My couches hurt but they look great. He is also bringing antique tables and his dark brown bedroom end tables that most certainly will not match my all-white, spa-like bedroom.
The truck is so big that, for those few hours of unpacking, I am one of those annoying neighbours that blocks half the street because the truck only half fits in my driveway. And my boyfriend had falsely advertised to me. He had told me he hired the company Two Men and a Truck, which I took to mean two college kids and some sort of pickup truck.
Um, no. There were three men and the truck was gargantuan.
I realized I had to get out because I kept telling them to move everything into the basement. The movers had a good laugh, but I knew what they were thinking: “Good luck living with her, man!”
When you move in at an older age, you not only have baggage, you have stuff. A lot of stuff. Literally, my boyfriend was moving his home into mine, and two homes can’t really fit into one. Something had to give.
There are some positives. We now have six televisions, and I now have a lawn mower and a tool box — and, most importantly, someone to mow the lawn and, well, fix stuff.
But I freaked out when I saw that he had put his ugly brown end table in my room. My room!
“Come on,” I yelled. “Even you can see that it looks awful!”
I needed to speak to someone, so I called Forest Hill resident Dee Dee Taylor Eustace, an architect and interior designer who runs her own firm (Taylor Hannah Architect) and will be launching her own HGTV show in early 2012 called Real Designing Women (plus, she’s been on Oprah!).
Certainly, as a woman, she’ll be on my side. Um, not so much.
I complain to her that I’m a contemporary person and he’s more vintage.
Surprisingly, she says, “I like a blended interior. You can take some of the Victorian pieces and give them a makeover, either lacquer up or recover.” But she does side with me on the La-Z-Boy.
“La-Z-Boys are not allowed,” she says. “But there are fantastic companies that make sleek modern recliners that swivel.” Her answer to this dilemma is “Go shopping together for a new one in clean white leather.” (Clean white leather! Are you listening?)
I forgot to mention that my boyfriend has more clothes than I do. When I saw all his clothes, I immediately wanted to become a monk and give up all material possessions because it made me physically sick. He had 12 boxes of clothes — and a suitcase of socks!
“Can you just give me three of your drawers,” he pleaded.
“No. I can give you one.”
“How about two?” he asked.
“Fine, you can have two, but that’s it!”
Then he got on my ass about how many clothes I had and why couldn’t I get rid of some of them?
“Not happening,” I answered. “But thanks for all the socks. I need some more.”
Again, Dee Dee shocks me by saying, “It’s an equal world out there, and you are lucky if he has style.” (I’ll admit that he does.)
“Divvy up the closet space and even start sneaking his sweaters for an over-your-tights look with sexy boots.” Hmm, I like it.
Next up, the art collection I love and how ridiculous it would be to put up a framed Tiger Woods photo alongside it.
“Art is a big one,” says Dee Dee. “Honestly, why don’t you leave the walls blank and slowly build a collection together?” But I already have a collection. How about he uses his “art” to decorate the basement? It’s not like I go down there anyway.
Dee Dee says I’m not alone with my angst.
“I find this is a common problem, and my suggestion is that you both listen and compromise … if you are more concerned about his end table over him, it’s not going to be a comfortable ride.”
His end table stays. Oh, the things we do for love.
Post City Magazines’ columnist Rebecca Eckler is the author of Knocked Up, Wiped!, and her latest books, How to Raise a Boyfriend and The Lucky Sperm Club.