I always heard that when two people who have lived independenly move in together, they have an excess of towels and silverware and 9 x 13 cassarole dishes. Not so with Patrick and I. We have an excess of books. Books upon books upon books. 7 boxes of books. A couple of exerpts from finally getting around to unpacking them all:
Him: Where do you want to put philosophers?
Me: Ancient or modern?
Him: 17th centrury French.
Me: Hmmm... Just put him with my French philosophers for now.
Me: Do you have The Good Citizen? Wait, don't answer that. Of course you do. Yours or mine?
Him: What edition is yours?
Me: Third, revised with intro by Eduardo Medieta.
Him: Ha, Mine is 250th anniversary edition with content notes by Leienne.
Me: Fine, we'll keep your Citizen, but I want a reverse ruling on my Plato- I've marked it up the way I like it and I dont want to start over with another.
Him: Fine. Where do you want to put biographies?
You get the idea. I knew that Patrick and I were dorks, albeit high-functioning ones, but I didn't think that would be how we spent a Saturday morning. We only had three cups between the two of us, but have filled three bookshelves. And that was after we weeded out copies we were going to take to the book exchange. As soon as we find one, that is.
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