I used to have a pretty absurd take on marriage. Basically I saw it as an agreement between two parties to indefinitely atrophy together on a couch in the suburbs.
So you could say I never saw myself getting engaged at 24, married at 25. And I definitely never thought I'd be getting engaged without first living with the dude. Here I am though, and what's strange is how not-strange it feels.
In June, me and my "intended" (barf, sorry) are doing the ritual Combining of Possessions. And I have come to see myself as owning too many clothes, given that my bedroom is carpeted with jersey and denim compacted underfoot.
Today is the radical purge. I'm talking even things I wear occasionally but that are not that great.