By Erin Lowry
This year, my boyfriend Peach and I are going to be celebrating our first Valentine’s Day as a co-habitating, New York City couple. We moved in together shortly before Thanksgiving, after more than six years of dating, and quickly settled into the monotony of seeing each other day-in and day-out. Let’s just say, we were long overdue for romance.
It was all scripted in my head.
Shedding the mandatory sweatpants and hoodie uniform of the self-employed writer, washing my hair after – well, a few more days than I care to share – and applying some concealer to the bags under my eyes, I’d prepare for an intimate evening.
“I’m heading home,” he would text, my heart skipping a beat.
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