I recently told Re-Boyfriend that he was welcome to move in to my apartment on January 1st. I made that statement with the best of intentions, both financial and emotional, then found myself slightly freaked out and spending ridiculous amounts of money because hey, soon my rent is halving and how many people in Manhattan can say that?

Due to the impending domestic bliss, I have been a bit guarded with my personal time. Or, as I so Freudianly told Re-Boyfriend, “We’ll be living together soon, so why don’t we spend as much time apart as possible? Um. Er. Not as much as possible but...you know.”

Last night was one of the nights I wanted to revel in my soon-ending single habitation. I wanted to sit with my greasy, unwashed hair, watching bad television and playing Playstation 2 (one of the benefits of having your boyfriend begin to move in) until I went to bed at a ridiculously early hour.

But because Re-Boyfriend is pretty cute, and because he had a big day at work coming up, I told him he could come over. “But I’m going to sleep soon,” I warned him. “And I want to read in bed alone. And I haven’t showered.”

When Re-Boyfriend arrived I kissed his cheek, went to my (our) bedroom and said “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” closing the door and leaving him in the living room a little confused at my hasty departure. I pulled out my book and snuggled under the covers. I felt that I had discovered the secret to living with Re-Boyfriend—pretending he didn’t exist at various intervals.

Then I looked up and saw the (literally) biggest cockroach I have ever seen on top of the (very tall) window.

I ran out of the room, hopped on the couch and stuck my head in Re-Boyfriend’s lap.

“What? What?”

I looked up at him.

“The biggest cockroach I have ever seen in my entire life is in my room.”

He sort of patted my head before getting up to investigate.

“Fuck. That thing is really big,” he said surprised.

After many attempts (dustbuster, swiffer, dustbuster on chair, swiffer on chair, shoe, bare hands) Re-Boyfriend killed the thing.

I kissed him in the “My hero” fashion.

“Do you want anything? I feel like I should give you something,” I told him.

“Like what?” he asked, washing his hands.

“Apple tea?”

“That’s okay.”

“I don’t really have anything else.” I thought. “Tortilla chips?”

He smiled at me. I was suddenly overrun with guilt and shame for wanting to be away from a guy that was so sweetly killing cockroaches and accepting my read-alone-in-my-room bitchery.

“Hey,” I said. “Isn’t this like a sitcom? Where I want to be by myself, but then there’s a cockroach, and you kill it, and I see the error of my ways and appreciate your presence more?”

“Have you really seen the error of your ways?”

I thought about it.

“Not really actually.”

“I didn’t think so.”

But I think that I should be seeing the error of my ways, which is probably the first step.