One of my favorite former professors, Sue Shapiro, has a great story in The New York Times this week about her husband of 13 years, recently moving the contents of his office into their NYC apartment. Her piece demonstrates how you have to keep constantly pushing past your comfort zone in order to make a marriage work. I think we can all relate to her struggle: learning to live with another person's stuff.

Because Jack and I dated for four long years before moving in together, I didn't have to deal with his stuff during those blissful early days. More importantly, he didn't have to deal with mine. I'll never forget the look in his eyes when he saw the inside of the spare bedroom I'd turned into a walk-in closet (not that anyone could walk in there, due to the mound of tried-on-and-rejected clothes littering the floor). He asked me then, in a shaky voice, "If we ever move in together, will you have to have a room like that?" "No, Sweetie," I unknowingly lied.

But Jack has his quirks too. Boxes labeled "Scary Stuff," and "Scary Stuff II" have followed us through several moves. Luckily, it's two boxes, not 20. So we know who's getting the better end of the deal.

What about you? Did the love of your life come with baggage? Was it there from the start or did they spring it on you later?