Size Does Matter

The old saying rings true - size really does matter (no, I'm not referring to my husband or chocolate). I've dealt with a dramatic decrease in living space and an astronomical increase in the cost per square foot of renting an apartment since relocating to the Big Apple from a mid-sized southern town. The cost of living in the city is unbelievable (that sentence truly deserves an exclamation point)! I have fully come to appreciate the two story townhouse I left behind that boasted two bedrooms, two and a half baths, walk-in closets, and over 1,200 square feet of living space for a mere $375/month.

Yeah, yeah, I can hear the New Yorkers now... but New York has so much offer! There is so much to do and see - museums, shopping, the Brooklyn Bridge, Empire State Building, etc. Yet, I wonder, how does anybody have money left after handing over most of their monthly paycheck to a landlord? Our landlord makes serious cash. I imagine he basks in the Caribbean sun, fingers huge piles of cashed checks as he sips pina coladas from a gold plated cup wondering... who would ever pay such a ridiculous amount of money for so little space?

We've kept the apartment furniture to a minimal. Ikea couch (read earlier story to learn how we acquired that pretty piece of furniture), bar top table with a 14 inch depth, one dresser (held up by a stack of lousy paperbacks), and a full size bed (thank goodness we're both skinny). Most of my family and friends wondered how I would ever fit my expansive shoe and purse collection, 15 pairs of jeans, and ever increasing array of beauty products in a 300 square foot apartment. Actually, that thought also made me nervous.

Luckily, though, I thought of a brillant plan within the first 24 hours of unloading boxes. Throw out my husband's stuff and replace it with mine. Genius. My beloved belongings would remain mine. Otherwise, who knows?! My stuff would have spilled onto the street, been carted off, and resold on eBay for who knows how much! I knew what I had to do. I combed through his closet and the medicine cabinet. I threw away sandblasted jeans, college shirts, some kid's football jersey, old electrical cords, and half used bottles of male products. I had plenty of space once I rid the apartment of "unnecessary" items. I simply have to continually purge and resist the urge to hoard, save, and hold on to everything. Now, all of my things have a nice, neat spot designated for them. As for his stuff, it all now convienently fits in one prefab, pressed wood cabinet.

All in all, the space issue wasn't as difficult to accept as I had anticipated. A smaller place isn't necessarily so bad. But, stuffing half of my paycheck into somebody's pocket that I've never met, now that's a sizeable issue that I'll never accept.