What's that smell?

Ah...the question could be a good thing or a bad thing when house shopping.

When you are ready to buy a house, why is it that we seem to think that Somewhere out there, our Dream House awaits?

My husband and I are finally ready to buy a house. I should say that I was personally ready about five years ago, but that is how it took me to convince him that we were ready.

Often, when you go to look at a potential home, there are people living there. It's still their home. And I love walking into a place that already has Food Smells going. Those soupy, cakey, meaty smells. I don't even want the food, I just want the smell. It's just so homey.

It makes me think of my friend Sonja. She's starting to get interested in cooking, but until then she could use the invention of something I just thought of. They should make a spray for people who don't cook. An aerosol can that, for five bucks, makes the whole place smell like pot roast. Or you could have a fumigator guy come in every three months.

Doorbell rings. "Who is it?"

"Pot roast man!" And he sprays around the house.

"You want me to spray the bathroom?"

"No, that's okay."

"How about under the sink?"

"Okay, maybe just coffee and cake."

Genius.

Shaken, Not Stirred

The real work of two people blending--the behavior stuff--is where things really get interesting. Because after so many years of being by yourselves, no matter how much "Us" paint you throw on top of it, the old "You" still shows through. And that's usually not a good thing.

A lot of guys think the highest compliment they can pay a woman is to treat her like "one of the guys". The whole "Treat others as you would be treated yourself" rule becomes "Treat others as if you were by yourself." They figure, "Surely we're beyond the silly formalities, the need to be civil. Let's relax. Be ourselves." And the women are thinking, "Let's not." Because we know where this leads.

While lying in bed: "Hey!!"

"What?"

"Did you just fart on my leg?"

"Sorry. I didn't know you were there."

See, when you are by yourself, you apply your own standards. It might not bother a man to stand in the middle of the room, drink 32 ounces of club soda, and belch out everything you've eaten since Fall. His Self may not care. Others, however, may.

And if you're with another person all the time, like my husband and myself, every repugnant component of your life must, by definition, happen in front of the other person. There's nowhere to hide. Ever.

So you learn to accept each other. Your best behavior is now and forever reserved for outside the house, and once you're inside, you're free to be the repellent American you really are. That's an implicit understanding. "I know all about you, you know all about me, and it'll be our little secret."

You become a little team. It's the "two of you" against "everybody else". And you look out for each other. Your partner becomes the one person in the world you can go over to and say, "Do I have anything in my nose?"

That's your mutual job: protect your Ugly Truths from everyone but each other. Which is kind of nice, actually. Here is someone who will not only be honest with you, but whose love for you is so great it can withstand looking up your nose. And then they go right back to loving you as if it never happened.

It's ironic that Everybody Else--to whom you owe nothing--is spared from having to see what's in your nose. As if they deserve better. But your partner, the very same person you love more than all others, gets to look right in there and investigate personally. That's their little privilege. One of the many bonuses for signing on for the long haul.

To Spoon, or Not to Spoon

Theoretically, marriage is all about two people becoming as One. But in the real world--and let's be really clear about this--you ain't One. You're Two. And there's only so much two people can blend.

Like in bed. For all the advantages of sleeping next to another person, it's not always easy to figure out where everything goes. And before your minds step right into that gutter, I'm talking about arms and legs. Arms and legs that didn't bother you all day are suddenly a burden.

Many people opt to minimize their Limb Placement decisions by sleeping on their own side of the Team Bed, an approach known as "Individual Free-Style Sleep". But even here there are choices to be made.

My husband is a big fan of the popular "One Arm Across Your Forehead, the Other Hand Resting Nicely on Your Groin". (When I questioned him about this one morning early on in our relationship, he stated, "Nine out of ten men sleep with at least one hand guarding their crotch. Not that this really protects anything, but if anyone tries to attack or pilfer, you're at least notified, and have a shot at dissuading them." I thought he was kidding at the time. He wasn't.)

But the real challenge is when you have four arms and legs to find homes for. Not so easy.

You got your "Her Head on His Chest, His Arm Around Her Shoulder" model, noted for it's easy-access Chest Hair Fondling; there's the "Face Each Other and One of You Wrap Your Upper Leg Around the Other One's Legs," or the easy-to-remember "Lie There on Top of Each Other Supporting Your Partners Body Weight With Your Own Rib Cage," which again--effective for conversation but not really suited for lengthy, sleep-oriented couplings.

For sleep, of course, you have the classic "Spoon" and "Reverse Spoon, both enjoyable, but tough when it comes to breathing. One of you will suffocate, and I've always believed there is no point in being cozy if you are dead.

Then you have the Thermal Level to contend with. Not only are two people in the same bed never the same temperature, they're not even close. One is freezing and the other is boiling. There is no middle range. And you're both upset that you're partner doesn't see it your way. "How could you be cold?" he asked me. "I'm sweating rain forests here...come on, be like me. Be hot." The contention being that if the other person is uncomfortable, they should at least be uncomfortable in the same thermal direction as you. Gee, okay honey.