Dog Training The American Male Part 7

LIVING TOGETHER.

PHASE ONE: NESTING.

A new home is a blank canvas waiting to be painted with the history of its occupants.

Having spent the majority of her last eight years living in pre-furnished dorm rooms and college apartments, Nancy's contributions to her first co-ed living arrangement included a queen-size bed and end tables, a quilt, several black and white framed Ansel Adams photos, a set of dishes, fast-food cups, mugs, a coffee maker, alarm clock, blender, a set of pots and pans, silverware for three, a half dozen cardboard boxes filled with books, a twenty-inch flat screen television, and four powder-blue bath towels.

The impressive furnis.h.i.+ngs that Jacob had purchased for his Manhattan apartment had been sold off years ago when his life had gone into a tailspin. Besides his clothes, shoes, personal hygiene bag and two cardboard boxes of "personal belongings," his domestic contributions amounted to little more than an air mattress, a zipper-challenged sleeping bag, and a five hundred dollar gift certificate from Bed, Bath, & Beyond the latter a housewarming gift from Vinnie's wife, Helen.

Other than Nancy's bed, there was nothing to sit on, nor groceries to eat. None of that mattered to the young couple, who spent their first night in their new home eating pizza and making love to each other in the master bedroom before cuddling together to watch a repeat of Sat.u.r.day Night Live.

Sunday was a bit more sobering, the sun awakening them at seven A.M. as its unfiltered morning rays blinded the sleeping couple from a mult.i.tude of bare windows.

Within the hour, Nancy had organized their day. With BB&B not opening until ten, their morning would begin with a quick trip to the local supermarket to stock up on groceries for the week.

With that came their first dilemma: Were Nancy and Jacob roommates or a couple living together?

Roommates was a term that divided the home into His and Hers, as in his and her bedroom, his and her bathroom, and his and her groceries. A couple that lived together shared these expenses.

Nancy broached the subject on the ride to the grocery store. "When it comes to the rent, electric bill, water, and cable we split everything . . .right?"

"Right."

"What about groceries?"

"Split it," said Jacob.

"Good. I'll keep a monthly ledger unless you'd rather create a computer program?"

"Pa.s.s. Wait, why do we need a ledger?"

"To keep track of expenses. Let's say you go grocery shopping and spend fifty dollars. That goes into the ledger, along with the receipt. At the end of the month we add up our expenses and settle out."

"What about tampons?"

"What about them?"

"Are we splitting them?"

"I don't know. Are we splitting your jock-itch powder?"

"I don't use jock-itch powder. Or make-up. Or razors for that matter."

"Fine. When it comes to groceries, you pay for your stuff and I'll pay for mine. Just make sure you buy detergent; I doubt Helen will be doing your laundry anymore."

"You, uh . . .can't do mine when you do yours?"

"I don't wash my roommate's clothes. I don't cook or clean for my roommate either."

"What about s.e.x?"

"I have s.e.x with my boyfriend. So are we a couple or roommates?"

"Definitely a couple." Jacob turned into the Publix supermarket parking lot. "Hey, did I tell you that I love you."

"Aw, I love you, too."

THE SHOPPING CART was three-quarters full by aisle four.

Jacob waited, helpless, while Nancy compared prices on two different dishwasher detergents. After a minute, she placed one inside the cart, then moved on to the liquid dish soap.

"Nance, you just bought dishwasher detergent; why do you need dish soap?"

"You can't wash everything in the dishwasher; some things you have to wash by hand." She grabbed a bottle of dish soap, moving on to the bathroom tile cleaners.

Then the gla.s.s cleaners. Oven mitts. Scrubbing sponges. Laundry detergent. Bleach.

Jacob exercised his veto power at the toilet paper. "I like Scotts. No dingle-berries."

"What are dingle-berries?"

"You know . . .those little wads of toilet paper that get stuck in your a.s.s hairs."

"I don't have that problem. You get your sand paper; I'll get my soft stuff."

"I thought we were sharing a bathroom?"

"We are. But we'll stock the powder room with the dingle-berry-free toilet paper."

And it was on to aisle five.

Forty minutes and a second shopping cart later, Jacob stood at the checkout counter, sweat beads forming on his forehead. Stay calm . . .it's not going to be like this every week. Most of these things are one-time expenses. A kitchen trashcan we needed that. Oven mitts and ice trays . . .sure. Aluminum foil? Who uses a hundred and seventy five feet of aluminum foil? You could wrap the s.p.a.ce shuttle in that much foil and save on the heat tiles. Freezer bags and trash bags . . .they'll last a while. Shampoo and conditioner? Okay, but why does she need the expensive stuff? I could use bar soap and be happy.

Nancy's eyes watched the clerk as he loaded the three six packs of beer and four two-liter bottles of soda into the cart. So much sugar . . . all those empty calories. And why must he drink so much beer? If I can get him to switch to bottled water and a cereal that doesn't have a cartoon character on the box, he'd probably lose twenty pounds.

The cas.h.i.+er pressed the total. "Three hundred and seventy-seven, ninety-six. Any cash back?"

Nancy turned to Jacob. "Baby, did you want cash back?"

Jacob looked at Nancy. "Sweetie, why don't you pay for this and I'll cover the towels and curtains with my gift certificate at Bed, Bath, and Beyond."

"I already have towels."

"What about curtains?"

"Fine." Nancy fished her debit card out of her purse, her eyes furious.

"Are you mad?"

"Of course not. Why would I be mad? I just thought the BB&B certificate was a housewarming gift."

"It was. From my brother."

"Really?" She swiped her debit card, nearly generating sparks. "Because Helen told me it was a gift for the two of us."

The female cas.h.i.+er raised her eyebrows.

Jacob twitched a smile. "Well, of course it is. You just save that receipt for your ledger, and I'll handle the next big ticket item . . .okay?"

"Okay. Where are you going?"

"Need air. Meet you outside."

Nancy smiled at the cas.h.i.+er. "We just moved in together."

"Honey, you don't have to explain. Before we got married, my husband did all his grocery shopping at the 7-Eleven."

LIVING TOGETHER.

PHASE TWO: ROUTINE.

Nancy entered her home, carrying two plastic Target shopping bags. She kicked off her shoes and left her car keys on the book shelf by the hall mirror. Oozing pride, she walked down the hallway past the powder room now decorated in violet hand towels, a turquoise rug, and a gold-plated towel rack with a matching soap dispenser. Entering the kitchen, she gazed lovingly at the new oval gla.s.s table and four black leather chairs, then entered the den to admire her new black leather sofa and beige La-Z-boy chair, the copper and black area rug beneath the granite coffee table matching the two throw pillows, the smart-looking saber-gray Venetian blinds complimenting the room.

Amazing what you could buy on interest-only payments for three years with twenty percent down. Of course, the two fake palm trees had come a week later they simply made the room.

She set the two bags on the gla.s.s table. From one, she removed a large box containing a wall clock, the face featuring an adorable white foofie dog. She popped in a double-A battery and set the time, then fished through a kitchen drawer until she located a screwdriver and screw.

She had mounted the clock and was changing out of her work clothes in the master bedroom when she heard the Volkswagen's m.u.f.fler backfire in the driveway.

Jacob entered his home, carrying the newspaper, which he deposited on the book shelf by the hall mirror. His bladder full, he hustled down the hallway and entered the powder room. Let loose a stream of urine that splattered the rim of the bowl. Shook himself twice (more than twice and you're playing with it), flushed, then rinsed off his hands, drying them with one of the violet hand towels, which he left in a ball on the sink.

Entering the kitchen, he saw the two Target bags on the new oval gla.s.s table and rolled his eyes. He entered the den looking for Nancy, finding only the new black leather sofa and La-Z-boy chair, the area rug and granite coffee table and the saber-gray Venetian blinds.

What good were interest-only payments for three years if he had to put twenty percent down? Even upping his hours at work to forty a week only covered thirty percent of that nut. And did she really need the two fake trees?

Seeking solace, he popped a John Lennon CD into the CD player and headed for the fridge to grab a beer.

Nancy entered from the bedroom hall. "Hey you. How was work?"

"Work sucked. I hate stupid people. The worst problem with being stupid is that stupid is forever. Next week they'll call me back to walk them through the same problem. How was your radio show?"

"Good," she lied. "I'm getting edgier. I think I need that, don't you?"

"Edgy's good. What's for dinner?"

"Burgers. Can you fire up the grill?"

"If I fire up the grill, then I'm the one cooking dinner."

"No you're not. You're turning on the gas, plopping three patties on the grill, and checking on them ten minutes later. I'm making fries and a salad. Jacob . . .your sandals. You're tracking dirt all over my clean floor!"

"Sorry."

"Can you take them off?"

"Then I have to put them on again to start the grill."

"So?"

"So then I have to take them off again to come inside. Then on again to flip the burgers. Then off again to come back inside. Then on again to get the burgers. That's a lot of work. All you're doing is popping the frozen fries in the oven and dumping some lettuce in a bowl."

"Fine. Take off those smelly shoes and bang the dirt off the tread and I'll cook the burgers and do the fries and salad, but you're cleaning up dinner. And that includes the grill."

"I can't clean up dinner; I have to practice my act."

Nancy gritted her teeth. "Can't you practice your act while you cook the burgers?"

"How do I do that? Pretend the bun is the dummy's mouth?"

"Fine. I'll do dinner and clean up; you go practice your act."

"Thanks, Nance. Oh, remember, I like mine well-done." Jacob headed off to the garage to get the George Bush dummy.

"Take off your shoes!"

LIVING TOGETHER.

PHASE THREE: WHEN DOES THAT LEASE EXPIRE?.

Nancy had intended to celebrate her first month living with Jacob by serving her boyfriend breakfast in bed. That plan had gone awry when she woke up Sunday morning with menstrual cramps. Seated at the kitchen table, she downed her last aspirin with her morning coffee. Still in pain, she opened her laptop to check her e-mail.

Jacob staggered into the kitchen in his boxer shorts and Miami Dolphins hooded sweats.h.i.+rt at eleven o'clock. Heading straight for the oven, he cranked the dial up to 425-degrees, then opened the freezer door and removed a frozen pizza.

Nancy looked up from her laptop. "Pizza for breakfast?"

Jacob placed the frozen pie on an aluminum tray and shoved it inside the oven. "Call it an early lunch." Opening the refrigerator, he grabbed a beer.

"Jacob, it's eleven in the morning."

"It's Lite beer. Half the calories." Jacob shuffled to the chair opposite her to read the morning paper.

"I got an e-mail this morning from my producer the quarterly Arbitron ratings. I'm drowning, Jacob."

"You'll figure it out." He glanced at the front page of the newspaper. "Did you see this? It says a Deerfield Beach woman was raped and a.s.saulted last night. The neighborhood's not far from here."

"You know what I think? I think I need to do something completely off-the-wall to generate ratings. Maybe I should simulcast my broadcasts on the internet topless?"