Collegiate Living: Honeys, I'm Home.

WE would meet in the kitchen just after sunrise each morning -- he in his white terry robe, I in my black embroidered caftan. We would talk groggily while making coffee -- he meticulously nursing a drip cone over a single mug, I stoking up the automatic for a tub of caffeine. For nearly a year, we started each day together, though he was not my husband and I was not his wife. But along with our four housemates, we would learn the rhythms of each other's lives -- who snored, who slept in, who liked to shower in the morning and whose hair would clog the drain. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]