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" The trouble with Matt and me wasn&amp;#039;t so much the lack of &amp;quot;we&amp;quot; time as the absence of &amp;quot;me&amp;quot; time. My boyfriend was in law school outside Philadelphia while I worked in New York. I&amp;#039;d hop the train down to see him, and we&amp;#039;d spend 48 hours watching episodes of Entourage in his suburban apartment building, which landed aesthetically somewhere between my freshman dorm and a retirement home. And we&amp;#039;d just be together. It was blissful, but what it meant for me was that back in New York, I had between 8 and 9 p.m. on weekdays-and the very rare actual lunch break-to clean my apartment, buy my mom a birthday present, go to yoga, sneak in a dinner with friends, refill prescriptions, and treat myself to a mani pedi. When Friday night would roll around and Matt was ready for our self imposed house arrest, I often couldn&amp;#039;t shake the sheer longing to be cleaning out my closet. I imagined stolen moments in downward dog, got a frisson at the thought of loading up a grocery cart at Trader Joe&amp;#039;s. Twisted? Maybe. But now that Matt and I live together, I still feel like getting him out of his shorts isn&amp;#039;t that much hotter than getting them washed. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.marieclaire.com/sex-love/advice/a937/love-snuggle-relationship/>