I moved to New York about seven months ago and I love it. The move was partly professional, but mostly personal. My fiancé and I had had a year and half long-distance relationship and decided one of us had to move. I had always wanted to live in NYC, so I happily made the move.

Now, I love my fiancé for what he is and for what he is not. I know he's not perfect and we all know I'm not either. (Can you hear the "but" coming?) BUT, when I got back into NYC after being gone for a month in Minneapolis, I came home to our apartment to find it in a state of disaster. When I walked through the door he handed me a glass of wine (smart man) and we found an uncluttered place on the couch to talk for a bit.

As I scanned the room, I knew the next day would be full of cleaning. He noticed my wide eyes and said, "I really cleaned last night before I went to bed." This is when I realized that my definition of clean is very different than his. For example, I see a plate that has something on it. That plate is dirty. He sees it, wipes it off with his shirt, and now it's "sorta" clean. Ah, the growing pains of living together! Anyway, I'm glad to say that I did spend all day cleaning and when he walked through the door last night, all he said was "Wow!"