Chez Goatee

Last night was my first night in official residence at Chez Goatee. I’ll be honest, it was kind of awkward, but then again it would be. I dumped my stuff in the spare room and started to unpack while Goatee whipped up some dinner. Fringe had left my deposit in cash in an envelope on my bed. It’s nice having a bit of extra money for once.

Goatee’s basil and tomato pasta was lovely, but after dinner we just kind of stared at each other. It was very much like, ‘What now?’

Before, even when I stayed over, it was a date. It was supposed to be a somewhat special night. But now, I just live here. So, we washed the dishes, he turned on the telly, and I finished unpacking. When it came time for bed, once again, we didn’t know what our personal protocol would be. Is it okay for one of us to stay up and watch telly while the other goes to bed? I’m in the spare room, but do I sleep in Goatee’s bed? Are we supposed to have sex every night? (I’m surly hoping not.) Goatee led me to his bedroom when he was ready to go to sleep, but there may be nights that I’ll want my own space. I guess it’s all a learning process, and I’m sure we’ll get into our stride sooner or later.

One positive of living with Goatee is that he can give me a ride to work in the morning, which is pretty fantastic. I can sleep in an extra half hour. (I know it doesn’t sound like much, but an extra thirty minutes in the morning is like a whole power nap.)

Work was alright today, except for HarryPotter. I asked him if he wanted to catch a film tomorrow night, and he said, ‘Would your boyfriend let us go to the cinema?’

I had no idea what he was on about. Of course, I can go to the cinema with HarryPotter. Goatee doesn’t own me, and I told HarryPotter exactly that. He ‘humphed’, stormed off, and that was the last he spoke of me for the day. Why do men have to be such girls?

So, I’m back at Goatee’s tonight. He cooked dinner, grilled chops with rosemary and roasted potatoes (yum, yum), and after dinner he suggested a cooking rota – he makes dinner one night, I make dinner the next. (Except on nights that he’s away for work.) I said that was fine as long as he didn’t mind microwaved macaroni and cheese. He laughed and said ‘That would be good. Would take some of the pressure off me. Sometimes I’m not in the mood for cooking a big dinner.’

We had a snuggle on the sofa, then I excused myself to the spare room. I’ve come up with the perfect excuse for blogging. I told him that I’m writing a novel, and I promised myself that I would write a little everyday. He asked if he could see my work, and I said I was shy. I’ve password locked my computer, so that I’m the only user – even better than the little locks that used to come with diaries when I was a girl.

Eventually I may have to write a novel just to show him something, but for now, I think I’ve bought myself a bit of blogging time.

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