Recently, as my boyfriend and I walked home from Mass, dressed in our Sunday best, I couldn’t help but imagine how nice it would be to walk back to our home instead of mine. And as we prepared a brunch of eggs and French toast, dancing around in my miniature kitchen trying to stay out of each other’s way, it hit me. Sharing our lives like this really would be wonderful, and perhaps it could help us get to know each other all the better.
But my mother always warned me against it.
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