We moved in together after a long period of dating. It just eventually made sense, coming out to everyone who knew us that we were, in fact, a couple. He owned the house, had the high-end furniture and fixtures. Most of my things ended up given away or tucked away in the vast garage.
Oddly enough, I didn’t mind that nearly everything I owned, save a leather chair he found adequate and a kick-ass sofa bed which made the cut for the Tahoe house, found its way to a new life elsewhere. In hindsight, of course, it should have entered my mind that maybe I belonged with the furniture and dishes and such that went a different route.
In the refrigerator, you would find only gourmet foods. Meat was purchased at an expensive meat market. The finest wines chilled inside, alongside $5 packages of pasta and $8 sauces. The best cheeses, the best produce, and all the finest accouterments to accompany meals were in there. In the freezer, there were tiny cartons of expensive ice cream.
On the outside of the Sub-Zero refrigerator were grocery receipts, marked with a “G” or a “P” to signify who had made the purchase. At the end of the month, the receipts were tallied up and accounts were settled. I contributed one-third; he contributed two-thirds. Every month, I wrote him a check for one-third of the mortgage and other bills, deducting or adding to it based on the other monthly expenditure split.
Even when we married, we continued along that path. No shared credit cards. No shared bank accounts. All separate. But not equal.
Is it any wonder that my life eventually took me in another direction, just as my furniture and belongings had previously gone?
Today, my Sears refrigerator is covered with magnets of the “Shrek” and “Cars” variety. You’ll see a dozen photos of children in various sports uniforms, marking the years from T-ball to the Minors, from “swarm ball” to real soccer teams.
You won’t find a receipt anywhere on the refrigerator. Not only is there no space for them, there’s no need for them. We share a life. No monthly accounting is necessary.
[Do read others’ Sunday Scribblings and find out their tastes when it comes to fridge space.]
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