Can Cohabitation Be Too Close For Comfort?
Over the weekend, my husband and I moved from our cramped, rundown, one-bedroom apartment near crowded Times Square in Manhattan, to a spacious, gut-rehabbed, state-of-the-art two-bedroom brownstone on a quiet, tree-lined street in Brooklyn. To say I’m happier in the new place would be an understatement. It’s as if I’d eaten McDonald’s hamburgers—not even cheeseburgers or Big Macs or Quarter Pounders, but regular ol’ tiny, boring, junk-food hamburgers—at every meal for the last several years and now I’m suddenly sitting down to delicious, nutritious, home-cooked meals of the finest cuts of meat and freshest veggies whenever I’m hungry. It wasn’t easy getting from one place to another though, both literally and metaphorically. It was a long time coming, and in the weeks leading up to the move—the very first move Drew and I have ever made together—I wondered if we’d even make it to our first wedding anniversary next month. Few things in life challenge a relationship quite like moving doe
