Stories: “Awesome”
My ex-girlfriend wasn’t the first and only time I lived with a woman. About six years ago, when I first moved to New York City, I had a female roommate.
The thing about living with a person of the opposite sex you’re not sleeping with (but would sleep with if given the chance, only you don’t because one does not use the bathroom in the exact same place they eat) is both parties must be true to themselves.
The two of us were roommates, not each others father or mother, so this idea that certain behavior was unacceptable on the grounds that it was unbecoming of a man or woman to act or speak a certain way was done away with almost immediately. The only way either of us were going to last in what at the time felt like a most unusual arrangement, was if she let me be a man and I let her be a woman.
This philosophy helped us stay the path of harmony. The two of us got along well, and I’m proud to say we never crossed that mythical line. For two years we were remarkably patient with one another, and as I recall, we had only three or four genuine disagreements. But awkward moments? Oh yeah, there were probably more of those.