The Last Risotto

I'm trying hard not to turn this into a blog exclusively about living with another person, because I realise it's not exactly an experience alien to most people. But it is the most interesting thing that's going on in my life at the moment, and (barring childhood with my parents and some time flat-sharing as a student) this is the first time I've co-habited. Ever. So it's interesting to me, if nothing else.

It's amazing the little unconscious singleton habits I've developed that are hard to break. Like trying to remember not to leave the key in the door when I lock it on returning home, making it impossible for Jane to get in!

Of course if Jane were like a fair percentage of female partners of trannies, this would be turning into a blog about "Incorporating Transvestism into a Relationship", but my transvestism is pretty much not a problem. It's not so much of worrying about her finding my stash as worrying about the creaking pile of super-compressed girly clothes in the airing cupboard exploding and taking out a fair proportion of east Lynn.

Compressed. That's actually how I feel generally at the moment. I've had to learn to live in a smaller place, both physically and mentally. Mentally because having another person in my life has made me realise the extra inertia that a couple have compared to one. On my own I was free to shoot off at all angles, acting or more or less any whim I wanted. With another person in tow, like two weights swinging around a new centre of gravity, it sometimes takes time to build up momentum to actually do things.

But, at the same time, things done as a couple rather than alone are much more fun and meaningful. It's a fair trade-off.

A clichéd question: does that feeling that your acting like a grown-up ever go away? Do you eventually just take it for granted that you're a grown-up and get on with it?

I thought I was a grown-up when first learnt to drive. After having sex for the first time (yes, it did happen in that order) I thought "okay, now I'm a grown-up". Getting my first mortgage was another occasion.

I thought they'd gone away, though. I didn't feel like I'd finally grown-up, it was just that the experiences that triggered the thoughts dried up.

That was until Jane moved in, and now they've returned with a vengeance. Drilling holes in the wall to hang shelves and things... doing a weekly "big shop" for two ... kissing Jane goodbye in the morning.

We bought a whole chicken at the weekend, something I'd not bother doing on my own. Between us we've cooked a roast dinner and chicken curry from it. Tonight I'm making a risotto out of the stock I made from the bones.

I'm eating proper roast dinners at home and making stuff from the leftovers! I'm a grown up!