Domesticity

I've tried living alone, and while I find parts of it nice: the space, the quiet, the free roaming, I still prefer the company of others.
So it should come as no surprise that after 2 years R and I have moved in together.
We had looked at places while out walking and it was a gradual assumption, at least on my part, that it was inevitable. We would move in together. Then we actually started looking. We found a place and decided on it. Near our old hood, yard, space, light, garage and we were ready to sign. But wait there’s more. So we gave a courtesy look at another. R’s coworker had a place. Nowhere near our old hustling and bustling young neighborhood, but it had a yard, garage, and was the first floor of a house. Knowing the landlords was a plus. The train is within 2 blocks and shortens my commute so while we thought it was too far out it ended up not mattering that much.
Then we actually started moving.
Combining households was easy. The stuff I had, he didn’t. The stuff he had, I didn’t. There really was no duplication. There were a few things missing which we quickly rectified.
A trip to an antique shop: which included a *truck break down of James Bond proportions. The container stores: many trips resulting in sponsorship of some kid thru community college. Crate and Barrel: culminating in the birth of our very own “Now were adults” bar.

*The truck (Diane) is actually a whole other story, but not very long so it became a foot note.
After purchasing the antiques and reclaiming my bike from my mothers basement we borrowed the old surburban which is probably only about 5 years younger than we are. There are a few of us who can remember the road trips and camping craziness (remnicient of this) that went on in that old beast. Anyway I love that faithful old girl and she was going off again on another adventure. We packed her up tight and with R at the wheel we were off. I followed him in his car (Diane's only flaws are that she has no air conditioning and only an old dial and punch button radio). An hour out on the highway and R pulls over. It's making a noise and we decide it's the back door that never wants to close properly. Back in the road I see silver bits shooting from the rear left tire. They are bouncing back towards me and shooting into the median. I start honking and the wheel starts to shimmy. Then it starts to wobble. A lot. Desperately concerned and totally brilliant I drive up as close as I can get to him (because that's what you do when you think a VERY LARGE truck is going to lose control) still honking (Diane is also a LOUD truck to drive). He was able to coast to the shoulder on to a well places curve in the road (he had no steering) and shaken we both jump out to look at it. No lug nuts, and the only reason the wheel was still on was it had ridden the center hub chewing it and shredding it to nothing.

normally it would have looked like this.