Mom calls it cohabitation

I'm in. His house, that is. Future husband and I are living "in sin," and it's only taken me about two weeks to completely reorganize the kitchen from silverware drawer to candlestick holders. I've reconfigured and/or reclaimed all of the furniture and decorative acccessories (replacing all of them, of course, with my own!). Two closets (one in each bedroom) and an entire dresser are crammed with my clothing. Mom calls it cohabitation. It's not fireworks and butterflies all the time, but it's pretty great to wake up to, come home to, share life with a person for whom you care deeply.

One thing. I wonder if it's a biological or chemical thing that happens to women. I wonder if it's just me. What was OK before ... picking up pizza for dinner, leaving dishes in his sink. Now it's our sink. Now it has to be perfect. Ridiculous? Yep. As days pass, my insane inner housewife is starting to quiet down. Maybe that has to do with the concerned looks my new roommate has been giving me. Or maybe its the fresh pot of coffee he makes me each morning or the sweet goodnight kisses I'm getting used to...

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