23 Days And Counting

So Marty and I will be living in another country in just more than three weeks. We plan to fly out on Sept. 15. Crazy. Our weekends already are committed to family outings, we have visa forms to fill out, and bills to cancel. In the mean time, we hope to hang out with our friends as much as possible. I expect to miss the the Chi-town gang immediately.

Just as soon as we got settled in this apartment, we have to start packing. Or, rather, decide what to throw out. Marty will have a more difficult time than me, what with his excessive... er, I mean extensive... thrift store wardrobe. Which of the 15 green, collared, thin-fabric shirts will he keep? Will he throw out all 10 of his white polo shirts or keep the egg shell one and cream one? Can he possibly part with the skin tight orange knee length shorts? The suspense is suffocating me.

Of course, I'm only teasing him. Actually, Marty and I have been in sort of a honey-moon phase lately. We've settled in to co-habitating very nicely and agree that we are the best roomies we've ever had. Plus we got cable now. We've been too absorbed in re-runs, old, bad movies, and reality television to even notice each other

I was more concerned than he was about the changes living together would bring to our relationship. (No surprise there, since I'm clearly the worry-wart in this relationship.) I wondered if signing a lease together would bring new pressures that we weren't ready for.
So far, looks like we were. I guess I should never doubt him again. (He'll love that line.)

P.S. Thanks to my good friend and flight attendant Sara, we may get first class seats for the 7-hour flight! That's something to be excited about on its own.