Something pretty big happened this weekend, and it’s something I guess I’m sort of still coming to terms with.
I moved in with a boy.
And not just any boy either – one I’m quite fond of. Like, really fond of.
It’s a big step, but one we’ve been actually talking about for over a year; it’s just taken us a while to actually do it. Partially to blame for the delay was the location – I worked in one part of the country while Michael worked in another (these days our offices are only a few tube stops apart).
Also to blame was the headache of finding somewhere decent that didn’t cost the earth: somewhere that didn’t have extortionate up-front fees, wasn’t in a horrendous part of London and wasn’t so foul that even rats would question residing there. Neither of us were in any big rush to move out of our parents’ homes, either, where the rent was cheap, the meals came cooked, and the heating and water bills were covered.
But there does come a time when you get fed up of being the ones that have to leave the party early to make the monumentally long journey home, and the ones stood on the platform at 7 o’clock in the morning waiting for a train that is running late, again.
And while we are lucky to have two sets of parents who didn’t mind us both hovering around the house at the weekends, constantly saying “mine or yours?”, when all we really wanted was our own space, was becoming a little tiresome, too.
But finally, after months of viewings and calls with estate agents, we found somewhere that gave us pretty much everything we would want from our first flat, and we went for it. We moved in together on Saturday, and so far we are loving it.
Living independently can be a pretty scary thing – there’s no Dad to capture spiders for you or fix that thing when it breaks… you have to fix it yourself, and if you don’t catch that spider it’ll eat you in your sleep. You’re the one who’s responsible for the utility bills, the council tax and finding a broadband provider that won’t rip you off. And apparently putting the bins out is a thing? Dad? … Dad?
Despite having already done this sort of stuff for three years at university, part of me still feels like a rookie who has no idea what she’s doing. But the important thing to remember is that we aren’t on our own – we’re kind of taking on this new challenge on together.
There’ll be bad habits to adjust to and things we’ll learn about each other that we might have to learn to love. It’s literally been three days – we’ve got a while to go and a lot to get through yet. The good news is, Michael can make me laugh even when I’m in the foulest of moods, and I make a pretty decent cup of tea.
So, I think we’ll be fine.