After nearly 14 months of dating, my boyfriend finally stayed the night at my house.

Which I know sounds like we’re in the 10th grade but I assure you we are pushing 30.

When I first started dating Ben, I was really anti dating in general so I didn’t want him staying at my house. I felt really weird at the thought of someone new sleeping in bed. For the longest time I wouldn’t even let him into my room. On our first date, we both got too drunk to drive so his roommate had to come get us and I was really upset when he dropped me off at my house because I didn’t even want Ben to know where I lived. Why he ever asked me out again is beyond me. I really didn’t wanna share any aspect of my life with any guy.

I finally allowed Ben into my room but never allowed him to stay the night. Then it became a thing. Then the thing grew into a huge insecurity where I looked around my room at all my stuff and was like, “Holy fuck! My shit is lame and old and broken and cheap!” I didn’t want him to have to watch movies on my small TV that I got for my 12th birthday that you had to smack the side of it to get the sound to work. I didn’t want him to have to sleep on my futon that was bowing in the middle and have a sore back in the morning. I didn’t want him to see the giant dust bunnies or my Dell computer from 2005. THE HORROR. 

So, we’ve stayed at his house with his 40 inch TV and feather top bed and clean room with no dust. Until last night. I decided it was finally time to let the guy into my bed. Well, you know what I mean. And, it went well. He used my unicorn blanket and never once complained about anything.