The true test of any marriage

I know I've been a little AWOL lately, and I apologize.  We are officially in our new apartment, but it's taken blood, sweat and tears to get here.  How is that possible?  We moved from a 660-square foot apartment, not a 4-bedroom house, so how can we have SO MUCH crap?

Before moving to Chicago, I lived in a 2-story townhouse, so moving to a small living space with another person required some, well, adjustment.  That's a nice way of saying yelling.  And let me tell you, when you live in a one-bedroom apartment, there isn't anywhere to go when you fight except a little place I like to call Margaritaville.

Our closet now...and we haven't totally unpacked

When we moved in, I was so excited that all my stuff fit (barely) in the 3 closets available.  That's when Mike politely said, "Um, where's my stuff going to go?"  Oh yeah, we hadn't moved his stuff in yet.  Oops.

Fast forward to October of 2010.  We find an apartment that has almost everything we want...more square footage, a dishwasher, in-unit laundry, a balcony and a parking spot.  But...brace yourself....there's only one closet.  Okay, technically two, but the front coat closet was apparently built for Paris Hilton's Chihuahua, because the only thing fitting in there are fur vests made for a 4-pound canine.

So this means our marriage is being put to a new test....sharing one closet space.  Mike's prediction?  That I'll buy more and more clothes, and slowly push him out.  He says eventually he won't have any space.  My compromise?  I've put all my summer and spring clothes in every nook and cranny in this house.  I'm even storing stuff in a kitchen cupboard.  Yikes.  I can see it now...we'll have friends over for dinner, and I'll accidentally give them my underwear instead of a napkin.