Every downtown dweller knows there’s nothing better than living in the city — especially when you have someone to share the rent with.

 

So, in the name of true love (and affordability), my boyfriend and I recently took the plunge and agreed to co-habitate. Like many couples who decide to move in together, our decision was equal parts romance and convenience.

 

So far, living together has been an adventure in decorating (I had no idea men had such strong opinions on floral motifs), and has resulted in a lot of practical cost-splitting opportunities. But it’s also brought to light all those irritating habits we’ve managed to keep hidden from one other until now.

 

I realized our new living arrangement would require an adjustment period, so I’m coming to terms with the boxers on the floor and the wet towels thrown on the bed. But suddenly it seems like my stuff has become our stuff and my territorial instincts are starting to kick in.

 

Sure, everyone loves sharing the cable bill, but what about those more personal items?


Any guy out there with a long-term girlfriend knows our fancy overpriced shampoo smells better than yours. So I wasn’t surprised when my boyfriend started helping himself. But what about towels, nail clippers, shaving cream … I’ve even caught him taking a turn with my toothbrush!


Is nothing sacred?


Maybe our newfound bathroom co-dependence is just a case of comfortable familiarity, a natural progression of any long-term commitment. On the other hand, what if this intimate behaviour is killing the romance, one unhygienic toothbrushing session at a time? I might be willing to concede on some of the toiletries, but I refuse to become a couple that uses the bathroom together.


I know there are people who happily perform their nightly flossing routine while their partner is perched on the toilet beside them. I also know I will never be one of those people. I’m prepared to share almost all of our household items — even the TV remote on occasion — but when it comes to bodily functions, I have a strict closed-door policy. There’s a fine line between intimate and icky.


After all, every couple needs boundaries, even when you’re sharing a 500-square-foot apartment.