September 14, 2006
Living with 'love interest'
Big step has Jill dreaming of Crate & Barrel.

Jill Brooks
INtake columnist

No matter what age, fathers worry about their daughters; mothers worry, too, of course, but it's not the same, endless duty.

Twenty minutes ago, in a cowardly act, I e-mailed my father and "mentioned" that I've moved in with my boyfriend.

My parents have always been cool not to pry or judge, and certainly to never ask: Is he the one?

That is a question I never answer.

When a girl moves in with a guy, my suggestion is to proceed slowly; that way he won't feel his territory disappearing all at once.

With all of those shoes, you'll need a lot of closet space, so carefully weed out his '80s clothing and the junk he's saved since high school, then quietly move these items to the "charitable donations pile."

Take your time switching out the artwork on the walls -- accelerate too quickly and he'll notice.

Pictures and letters from old girlfriends that you "come across" should obviously be boxed up using an entire roll of tape, and stored in the basement.

I took my sweet time moving in, taking small boxes up each day, and hiding things like my Star Wars lunchboxes and snow globe collection in closets.

I've been told more than a few times that I own a lot of stuff. Yeah, well, duh.

Everyday more of "me" arrived and the closets began brimming with skirts, purses and high-heeled shoes.

On the official moving day, I created the illusion that all I really owned was a bunch of extremely heavy furniture.

I'm that good.

My boyfriend and my good guy friend carried all my stuff up and down flights of stairs for the proverbial pizza/beer tradeoff.

This pizza/beer thing is the greatest device known to womankind.

I helped with the drawers and mattress, but basically I was there to direct traffic.

I hardly broke a sweat, and now I live there. When it was just called "dating," and I visited, I loved cleaning the kitchen every day.

Strange, I view it now as a job without pay or vacation.

Laundry's lost its luster a bit, too.

Domesticity takes its daily toll, but I never get Crate & Barrel tired.

I want to buy more stuff.

In fact, sometimes I daydream of waking up in a different style of Crate & Barrel bedroom every day.

This is what time on your hands and routine shopping in Indianapolis will do to you, so be careful.

But so far, sharing time and space and grocery duties is pretty wonderful.