Just like a sublet, romance can be temporary; breakups are a necessary part of the equation, and they make people do silly, costly things.
I recently started shopping for food at the 99 Cents Store in my neighborhood. It’s not as depressing as it sounds. I mean sure, the place certainly looks depressing from the outside. It’s got this garish blue and yellow paint, there are always people loitering around outside muttering to themselves, and there’s a security guard posted up at the entrance to make sure people don’t steal any more shopping carts.
My boyfriend and I just recently acknowledged our two-and-a-half year anniversary. During all of that time we’ve been making it work even though we are long-distance.
At the beginning of 2014, I put my partner on the medical coverage I receive though my full-time employer. It was a godsend, as going without health insurance and trying to buy your own health insurance in New York City are both surefire paths to the poorhouse. For domestic partners who aren’t married, or for those forbidden from wedding by law, it is perhaps the best work perk you can come by.
It started, like so many weddings do, with a white dress. Not the wedding dress, which would come later, but a little cotton sundress I found on a rainy San Francisco day. I was waiting for my fiancé to arrive from his nonprofit job so we could walk together to Williams Sonoma and start to register for kitchen utensils. I ducked into a high-end store to get out of the rain.
I’m spending a small fortune on my personal appearance.
As the twentieth century draws to a close, I find myself the father of three boys under five.
The youngest is born under circumstances that seem positively routine compared with our first outing. When I return to hospital six hours after the birth, my wife is dressed and ready to go, the baby packed up like hand luggage.