One of the problems, or perks depending on how much self esteem / dignity you possess, caused by living with your boyfriend is that all attempts to hide the fact that you are both farting, pooping, sweating humans become utterly futile. When your relationship is still in the new, romantic and daisy-smelling phase, you can always manage to get up early before the other person wakes up and shower/redo your makeup/shave/hide your tail, in order to maintain the illusion of you two being glamourous, stylish beings in control of your bodily fluids. This will pass. Trust me, one day you are re-applying your lipstick every five minutes, and the next day you only put deoderant in the armpit that you will have angled towards your partner. It doesn't get prettier - burping contests and pimple-squeezing replaces candle-lit dinners and romantic strolls around the park, and instead of eating chocolate mousse off of each others bodies, you mainly just eat the chocolate mousse while watching tv and arguing on the best way to raise your cat. You know that you have entered the all too comfortable phase the very second you start to have hygiene chicken races around the house, which are mainly based on a competition on who can last being disgusting or living in your disgusting apartment the longest.
However, for some reason, this stage of the relationship is so much better. It's really a rush knowing that someone loves you despite of you looking like something bursting out of a bloke's chest in an Alien film; knowing that someone even loves you because you can eat 2 kilos of baby back ribs and then have a farting contest with yourself and not win.
I think I'm going to surprise my boyfriend with some romantic gesture when he returns tonight. Maybe arrange the cat poo in the kitty litter box so it spells out I LOVE YOU.
Because I care.