The first thing I think is, I will have to throw out all of my old underwear.
In my mind I do a quick overview of every item in my underwear drawer. The effect inside my head is not dissimilar to a sweeping aerial shot, like the ones they do in movies about Africa. In the films, the camera-attached-to-aeroplane swoops over a hillside and beams of light fall on the animals, illuminating hippos, long-legged birds, giraffes. In my head, the camera glides over my open underwear drawer and suddenly every pair of hole-ridden, period underwear is spotlighted.
"So, you don't want to move in with me in Philly?"
Harvard has misinterpreted my flinch.
"Of course I want to move in together. Of course I will go to Philly with you."
Of course I want to move in with Harvard, but, when I do so, I want to be the kind of girl who has only beautiful, lacy, new and sexy Victoria's Secret underwear spilling forth from my dresser drawers. I don't tell him this. Though I could.
I smile now. I am already anticipating our "Moving-in Montage." Ours will be just like the one with Demi Moore and Rob Lowe in About Last Night. We'll have an upbeat, snappy soundtrack underneath our cheerful drive to Philadelphia.
The first scene: him trying to hang both of our bathrobes up on a single hook in our new bathroom. The bathrobes drop. He tries again. The bathrobes drop once more. He shrugs, exits the room and returns with hammer and nails. Cut to: me brushing my teeth in the bathroom, glancing toward the wall. Noticing the hook he has hung up for my robe. Cut to: me running into our bedroom (clad only in my adorable socks and his button down shirt), toothbrush still in mouth, to jump on bed and kiss him madly.
The second scene (snappy music continues): Us unpacking boxes. My favorite mug. His favorite mug. Both placed on the shelf next to one another. Later, cut to: him opening the cupboard drawer and smiling at the sight of my favorite mug next to his.
(Note to self: acquire favorite mug.)