Eleven years together, four apartments in six years, and one of us signs everything

We are two women who have been together eleven years and are on our fourth apartment in six, which tells you most of what you need to know about our life. One of us leads. The other signs whatever is put in front of her, cheerfully, and always has.

Thirty seven and forty, Brooklyn, both of us in health care, no children and no intention of any. What we do at home is structured, quiet and invisible from outside, partly because it has to be in a building like ours and partly because that is what we both prefer.

What we want is friendship with other couples where a woman leads. Specifically the kind of friendship where complaining is allowed. Everything either of us has read is written as though the arrangement is either flawless or in crisis. Ours is neither. It is mostly fine with several irritating parts, and we would like to talk to people whose version is the same.

One thing that catches us out repeatedly: people assume that because we are both women, one of us must be playing the part of a man. That is not what any of this is, and if that assumption is anywhere in your head we would rather you kept scrolling than worked it out over dinner.

Not looking for anybody to join us. Not looking to play with anyone. Not looking to travel far, given that our schedules already treat us badly and neither of us wants to spend a rare free Saturday getting somewhere.