As we were scrubbing down kitchen cabinets the other day, Shelby and I talked about my sharing a house with a woman who's not family. I told her I have a lot of past experience with that, and her answer was comical.

She said Oh yea, you lived with Steph for fifteen years. That would be my ex before I landed in Tennessee, but before her I had decades of serious relational experience living with women, and a couple of wives along the way.

Maybe I've lost my subtleness, and slowly trying to regain it back, but apparently I crossed a boundary when I opened my roommates bedroom door, to set her two small dogs, free.

It was a beautiful day, all house doors open and dog secured. I was sitting out in the Cave, listening to these dogs, that I adore, barking nonstop at the two workers next door, from the balcony, for a half an hour.

I said Fuck this shit and went upstairs and opened her door. The dogs came running out, I made a mistake and I am a bad man for it.

Me and the dogs hung out together the rest of the day and had a wonderful time, two good walks and Sebastian pooped. As we were sitting out on the front porch in the sun, I worked with both dogs to teach them to stop barking at people that walk by. It was working.

I texted my roommate about what I did, then I discovered I had crossed a line, and it's gone downhill from there.

I take full responsibility, I fucked up, and I've learned my lesson. Never open a roommates door, even if they have rotting dead bodies on the other side and the smell is permeating the neighborhood.

I guess I've lost the knack of sharing a space with anyone.