ABOUT WOMEN
Opening moving boxes not unlike opening a can of worms
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By Tanya Bricking
Advertiser Staff Writer
My once-cherished sofa is sitting outside on the patio. It did not make the cut for cohabitation.
There's still debate about keeping it if we screen in the porch. Right now its home is beside a futon, bike, grill and assorted items that look fit for a yard sale.
This moving-in together business isn't just a union of souls. It's an explosion of stuff. And I never knew I had such emotional attachment issues.
I brought myself to deal with our duplicate blender situation, since we had three. I can even handle our lack-of-bathroom-counter-space issue.
I just can't bring myself to combine closets.
Maybe I've lived by myself for too long. Maybe I'm just selfish and I have too many clothes. Maybe it's just because I've seen the closet of my husband-to-be, and it wasn't pretty.
He claims that was the closet of his bachelor days. I see no reform coming. I just watched him neatly fold every T-shirt he's collected since high school and toss each one on the top shelf as if he was practicing free throws.
As a show of good will, he's cleared out half of his dresser for me, but I'm contemplating claiming the guest room as my personal wardrobe.
It's not just me. Even his dog is getting territorial. Maybe half of the bed will be mine. Maybe I'll have to share it with her.
My fiancé says the den is his. That's where the bar is going, and probably his trophy collection and framed works of, ahem, "art" depicting deers, helicopters, beer posters and manly stuff.
Opening boxes has only rivaled the stress of packing them. Where I would neatly label the contents of my boxes and which room they belonged, he would just throw things in his truck. He thought I was box-obsessed. (He might have had a point, but I still think my way was better.)
The whole thing has brought out the controlling parts of our personalities. The division of space has been symbolic of giving up a little independence and making more room for each other. The paring-down part has meant for some intense negotiations.
"Do you want these vases?" I asked, eyeing his southwestern-themed ceramic pots.
That's another thing about guys, come to find out. Vases are just meant to hold loose change, apparently. We haven't even unpacked his plastic Bud Light coin holder yet. That's definitely going in the den, unless I can sneak it out to the garbage, or at least next to the sofa on the patio.
I hope the neighbors can put up with our outdoor eyesore a little longer while the negotiations continue.
And I don't mind if the drought continues. It's better for the furniture.
Reach Tanya Bricking at tbricking@honoluluadvertiser.com or 525-8026.
