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How to Live with a Man

I have never lived with a man, (as I typed I wrote loved).
He staying over, sleeping over at his place, you still have the drive home, the option of staying, more importantly, perhaps, the option of leaving.

I hate sharing rides with people to an event, a party, a dinner, because the next few hours are dictated by their decisions. "You wanna go?" they ask, when you both know you wanna stay. "You wanna stay?" they ask, when you both know you wanna go. Given the option I will always meet people. "I'll meet you!" I say and make up an excuse as to why I have to do this.

I no longer have that option. I cannot leave, to sit on my couch alone, scratching at places not allowed in public. Now, I live with a man, my husband. I live with a man who sits with me quietly as we watch T.V. I live with a man who helps me make dinner and also helps me clean up. I still take long baths until my fingers are pink prunes and he watches soccer while gaffing at the T.V. I read while he turns the volume down next to me in our bright orange bed. His arms reach for me in his sleep and sometimes we sleep holding hands.

I have never lived with a man, and do not have a comparison, but if I had to choose who to ride with to this party, it would be him.

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