Lest you think I’m building a sizeable harem of strapping young men, I should clarify that the 20-year-old moved out at the end of the college term, leaving me with only the 27-year-old who moved in right before my Pure Romance party.
The newest housemate is 26, and yes, I’ll admit it – adorable.
Notice I said “adorable” and not “hot.” It’s one reason I’m fond of living with boys in their twenties. They’re good at opening jars and staying out of my way, but way too young for me to think of them as anything other than puppy-dog cute.
The unique thing about the new guy is that we’d never met before he showed up and dragged his dresser into my house. We exchanged countless email messages after he responded to my craigslist ad, and a thorough background check assured me he wasn’t an escaped inmate intent on stealing my underwear and fornicating with my household pets.
But since he was moving from out of state, an in-person meeting wasn’t an option.
Based on what he’d told me about himself – and on what others told me in reference checks – I knew he’d be a good fit.
But email messages and conversations with someone’s references – well, those all involve “telling,” don’t they? It’s not the best method to reveal character in a novel, and it certainly doesn’t provide the whole picture when scoping out a new housemate.
So after he arrived, I was on the lookout for “showing.”
My first clue came as he unloaded boxes from his ’78 Landcruiser. He’d told me via email that he’d restored the vehicle himself, but until I saw it up close, I didn’t appreciate the significance.
It’s hardly a sportscar. Douchebag adjectives like “sweet ride” or “souped up” would never apply to this automobile. It’s functional and well-maintained, but it’s not a penis extension on wheels. During the week it took him to drive from his home state to Oregon, he camped out of the back of it.
All of that told me something about him. Handy. Down-to-earth. Refreshingly ego-free.
The other housemate meandered out while I was pretending not to inspect the Landcruiser. Apparently, he had the same idea I did.
We both spent a few minutes trying to look like we weren’t studying the bumper stickers on the Landcruiser as we studiously washed our own cars.
Feeling stealthy and covert, I sidled up to him with my soapy sponge still dripping.
“Did you notice the sticker that says—”
“Yeah.”
“So, um…socially and politically speaking—”
“On the same wavelength.”
Not that housemates are required to share politics, but just knowing our value systems are similar assured us we won’t feel compelled to duel in the driveway when the next election rolls around.
Further clues about his personality came a few hours later when he returned from grocery shopping and began unloading his purchases. I was making lunch at the time, so I watched in curiosity to see if he’d stock his cupboard with Oreos and Top Ramen.
He pulled out the ingredients to make brownies. From scratch.
While those baked, he got to work shaping giant, meaty hamburgers that he proceeded to cook on a grill that he built himself.
Then he washed his dishes and put everything neatly away.
Throughout the afternoon, I heard him upstairs unpacking his things and singing in a deep, cheerful Southern drawl. My dog went upstairs and adoringly parked herself on his floor. A few minutes later, I heard him carrying on a conversation with her about her preferred technique for belly scratching.
When I talked to my parents that evening, they were eager to hear about the new guy.
“Did he call his family to let them know he arrived safely?” my mom wanted to know.
“Within five minutes of getting here,” I assured her.
Apparently, that showed my mom what she needed to know about his level of thoughtfulness and courtesy. I suppose if you’re planning chop up your new housemates with an ax and eat their eyeballs, you don’t first phone your father to let him know how the roads were.
Apparently, that showed my mom what she needed to know about his level of thoughtfulness and courtesy. I suppose if you’re planning chop up your new housemates with an ax and eat their eyeballs, you don’t first phone your father to let him know how the roads were.
When it comes to meeting new people, do you watch for subtle clues about their personalities? When it comes to writing, how do you “show” someone’s character through small actions, mannerisms, and personality clues? Please share!
Speaking of which, I sincerely hope the new guy is planning to share those brownies. They smell delicious.
