Once, on a second or third or fourth date, a boy said to me, “The more I get to know a person, the less I’m interested in them.  The more I know them, the more they bore me.”

I wanted to leave the date right then.  Maybe, I thought, we should never hang out again.  It’s the only way to save our chance for love.

One of my favorite things about life/me/people is that humans don’t get boring.  The more I know someone, the more interesting she/he is to me.  Almost invariably.  I’m not saying I don’t sometimes yawn listening to people talk or that I don’t get facebook ennui.  But if I’m really, honest-to-goodness getting to know someone, I find more and more to consider.  Question.  Delight in.  Fine—probe.  I love it.

I don’t know if this is a gendered thing.  My informal surveying tells me it might be—though yesterday, a (female) friend added this nugget: “Maybe men and woman are the same after they’re in relationships.  But when men are just dating around, they trick themselves into thinking they’ll get bored when a girl’s mystique evaporates.”  (Okay, that’s not exactly what she said.  But it’s the general gist.  Yes, L?)

This I like.  I watched Julie & Julia on Friday night, the new film starring Meryl Streep as Julia Child and Amy Adams as an almost-present-day blogger trying to cook her way through Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking.  Among other lovely things—and it was full of lovely things—it was a heartfull homage to marriage.  To lasting intimacy and interest in the lives of those we live with.  The husbands endured—and invested in—their wives’ interests, even engaging in the picayune-ish details of their wives’ lives and decisions.  What to make for dinner was a big one.  How to respond to a critic or trouble with a jell-o mold.  What next to try to live a meaningful life.

My favorite way of getting to know people is to live with them.  By far.  By far.  I love what people are like when they are doing their laundry, while they are clearing off the table, while they are rummaging through the fridge or just coming in the door.  I love seeing how they arrange their beds, hearing what they choose to talk about late at night, right after dinner, first thing in the morning.  It’s the great sadness of my life that I can’t live with everyone.  It’s the great delight of my life that so far, I’ve made a good start (10 immediate family members, 2+ adopted family members, now 53 roommates and counting).  6,774,705,647 people on the earth (as of 8/01/09).  Sixty-five down; 6,774,705,582 to go.

Maybe that’s why I like the idea of heaven as skies of houses in which we live with the people we—of course, of course—increasingly love.  It sounds logistically complicated, but I’m totally totally for.