A few weeks ago, D arrived at my apartment one night and made an interesting comment.
“You know, staying at your place every night is really KILLING my hygiene.”
Oh? The standard routine has been that he comes over after work (which is usually late at night) and sleeps until he needs to get ready for his next shift. He throws on the same boxers and undershirt, puts on a pair of pants and a shirt fresh from the cleaners and goes to work.
“I normally like to put on a clean shirt and boxers when I get home from work, you know?” he said.
I asked him if he wanted a drawer.
“Why don’t you bring somethings over?” I asked.
He said he just always forgot.
I went into my bathroom and told him I had a toothbrush for him, which he appreciated. The next morning, however, I took a peek at his undershirt size and the number on his pants. I made a mental note, and that was that.
A few days later, I took a rather fun adventure to Walmart.
What resulted was a shopping cart full of things any guy could ask for in terms of showering/prepping for work: face wash, razors, body wash, shampoo/conditioner, Chapstick, a comb, deodorant, aftershave, and mouthwash… I even got a “Man tool” which was a manly loofah that I didn’t even know existed.
Although it sounds like I really knew what I was doing, looking for all of these items was mind-blowing. I had no idea all of the options men had out there! I cannot even describe to you the horror that was on my face when I entered the razor aisle… I didn’t know what razor to get and then I stood there for a solid 10 minutes wondering if he used shaving cream or not. I assumed not, and I was indeed right, he uses hot water.
Yeah. I’m awesome. Or am I? Because in the 24 hours that the basket sat there before he saw it, I was nervous as shit. I was worried he would see it and feel smothered or think I was moving too fast and then he would bolt and then I’d be left with a manly basket of crap.
Instead, he loved it. Because I’m not dating the men of my past.
“You did very good; I love my basket,” he said.
He was perplexed on how I got the correct sizes though. And I told him I just looked at his tags… he then concluded that I was a ninja and that my sneaky ways needed to be further reviewed.
Being the great girlfriend that I am, I washed the clothes (including the ones he left), folded them, and stacked them in their very own spot, the boyfriend drawer.
I’ve never given a guy a drawer or anything close. When I sent D the picture, he replied, “Major girlfriend points.”