Let Me Guess: He's Gonna Whip Out His Phone And Fiddle With It Now

This goes out to all the phone fiddlers out there (you know who you are).

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Let Me Guess: We're Gonna Stay At His House

Look how clean he's getting!

No, I don't have a crystal ball. I did not consult the arrangement of tea leaves at the bottom of my mug and, no, I did not call a psychic friend. How do I magically know that we'll end up at his house tonight? Well, because we ALWAYS stay there despite the following facts:

• My shower is filled to the brim with fancy products to choose from
• My kitchen is well-stocked with delicious food
• I have new movies from Netflix that we could watch
• I have the kind of bathtub that a bum could take a bubble bath in and feel reasonably refreshed afterwards

His house doesn't have any of these things! Bums would not be pumped to bathe there. So, why do we stay at his place all the time? Because he likes to sleep in his own bed. He likes being in his little cubby hole, like a hamster in his cage.

It didn't start out this way. At the beginning of our courtship, it was a good 50/50. But by the second month, it was more 60/40. Now we've slid into solid 90/10 and I'm not into it. It's weird because I'm the one that needs to haul over my make-up bag and make sure I have moisturizer and sunscreen all the time. He just rolls out of bed and tosses on a shirt and then he's good to go.

So, why do I put up with it? I guess it's because he never seems fully relaxed at my house. He's out of his comfort zone, like Will Smith when he first moved to Bel Air. Honestly, he does seem more comfortable in his element i.e. a shitty South Philly row home. So, I'll put up with it. For now.

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