We went through every detail and decided it was time to move in together. And why not? We found plenty of good reasons to go ahead with our plan:
We’re both on our own. At sixty, it’s not exactly easy to meet a new man, and if you’re fortunate enough to do so, the question of the house can always be sorted later. Our children and grandchildren live miles away. The family would only be glad to know their grannies arent feeling lonely. Back when we were young, we shared the same flat. I had a little one at the time, but we got along somehow, even though both of us were a bit set in our ways. There’s never been a dull moment. We took care of the cleaning together, cooked, and organised our own outings, so we wouldnt just be stuck indoors all the time.
Financial security was another big benefit. Our expenses would be shared, plus we’d have rental income from the let-out flat. In the end, wed still come out on top!
Wed have constant company and care as well. If one of us fell ill or something happened, help would always be on hand.
All in all, living together seemed full of positives!
Then reality set in.
The first disagreement was over where wed live. Each of us wanted to stay in her own home and had a list of reasons why. I was willing to move, mind you, but it turned into a bit of a tug-of-war because I didn’t want my friend thinking she could always get her own way.
The next dispute was over stuff the sheer amount of it. When I’d given in and started moving my things in, she began to complain I had too much. There was nowhere to put it all, and I didn’t fancy leaving it in the flat, who knew what sort of tenants wed end up with.
We sorted it by hiring a garage, where we stashed the crockery and various odds and ends. Soon enough, we found tenants for the place, and then the real fun began. At first, I felt my friend was treading on my toes. I felt like a guest in her home, but eventually, I let it go.
Sharing a home just didnt work because there wasnt any real equality. She was used to keeping the cleaning kit in one place, and I preferred another spot. It seemed like I was constantly deferring to her, as she was mistress of the house.
Then it turned out we had different tastes in food. I stayed quiet about it, trusting her choices. Over time, I got used to it and even forgot my own preferences. Another thing came up Im a light sleeper, whereas she can only drift off with the television blaring. The noise drove me mad; sometimes even earplugs werent enough.
Many of the drawbacks began to outweigh the advantages. We tried to put up with it and find middle ground. But then came the breaking point: I noticed she started getting irritated just at the sight of me. I seemed to do everything she wanted, but something was obviously aggravating her.
Then she simply stopped speaking to me. The silence went on for a day, then another, then a week… I kept running things over in my mind, trying to work out how Id managed to upset her. My patience finally gave wayI broke down in tears in front of her. She started crying as well and admitted she didnt even know why she was so short-tempered. Thats when I realised: some people are just meant to live in their own homes and by their own rules. Its better to meet up often than to live together under one roof.
We cancelled the tenancy agreement, and our friendship improved straight away.
