Here we are, in our new apartment. It's taken several weeks (and outlays of several thousand dollars) to move a little over ten blocks. Lisa and I have been waiting two years for this. Her clerkship is over, and we've taken all the stuff in her little apartment, all the stuff in my really little apartment, and jammed it into one -- well, little -- apartment.

The major upsides are twofold: closing the 100-mile distance that's separated us for two years, and reducing our monthly rent expenditures by a third (almost half if you count Lisa's car payments and auto insurance).

The major downside: This stove. We spent weeks -- months really -- looking for an apartment. We scoured the entire West Side of Manhattan from SoHo to SoHa. As my lease ran out, we got desperate, and we decided to settle for living space above all else. Real estate in Manhattan is all about compromise, so I gave up my huge kitchen with its acres of counter and cabinet space and its gas range for the prospect of a less cramped cohabitation.

I hate electric coil ranges. They're difficult to gauge, they don't respond quickly to adjustments, and they tend toward uneven heating. Plus, one of them almost killed me a few months ago. I feel like I've gotten pretty good at manipulating the subtleties of the gas flame through years of practice, and now I can't take advantage of this painstakingly developed skill.

But it's worth it. The sacrifices we make for love sometimes pay unexpected dividends:

Bonus.