Love Shack

Scott definitely took a bigger risk than me by moving in. Because I had already had a fully decorated apartment with nicer furniture, Scott gave away almost everything he had. His futon and matching (?!) papasan chair, his particle board bookcase, and his coffee table that consisted of a suitcase on top of a milk crate. In the end, we packed a few boxes of clothes and everything Scott took with him to the new apartment fit in the back of my Explorer. Scott's moving in was completely uneventful.

His father came over that afternoon. After approving of the apartment and the building I we live in, he sat down on the couch and turned on the football game. I fetched the boys beers and I began to unpack Scott's box of cooking pans and food. I stood on the other end of the kitchen island and watched the boys drink and watch the game—both seemed completely at home nestled in my our living room. It was then it hit me that this is official. I live with someone and his father is on the couch and drinking beer. My underwear is folded in the dresser in the next room. I don't know if I've ever had a boyfriend's father in such a close proximity to my underwear before.

I forced myself to calm down and continued unwrapping glasses. Father and son had moved out onto the balcony to admire the view: the pool of course, and not the ladies sunbathing adjacent to it. Besides, my father still has no idea that anyone is in such close proximity to my underwear; my parents don't know about Scott's moving in. He's giving me until Christmas to tell them.

Uneventful indeed.