Just a few more days until I, cue the scary music, move back home. Who says you can’t go home? Well, I probably would have. My mom might, although she isn’t letting it show.
I have been trying to wrap my head around how this will actually feel. My life isn’t that wild and crazy, so I don’t have any habits that I will have to give up living at my parent’s house. No drugs. No drinking. Wait, I take that back. I’m going to be back in a town that sells Red Cat!! Yes, drinking. It’s wine that tastes like kool-aid though, nothing too hard. (For all of my friends who don’t know, Red Cat is what happens when you take grape juice and add fairy dust and rainbows. It is so sweet. Not really wine at all, just deliciousness that sometimes gets you tipsy.)
What I am going to miss is being master of my domain. The kitchen is no longer ‘mine’. It’s my mom’s. If I want to have skim milk it will have to be a little ½ gallon that sits next to the family’s 2%. I don’t have a problem buying my own milk, I’m just having a hard time getting used to the idea that I have to share the space. Especially because, if you know my mom, she keeps the refrigerator pretty stocked. There might not be enough room for my milk or my chocolate chips that I started eating out of the bag when I had my own apartment.
My room will not be my own either; my niece pretty much has run of the whole property. I love my niece, but stepping on Barbie’s and having her giant, scary Olivia doll stare at me while I try to sleep is going to take some getting used to.
The last time I was home I also discovered that the bathroom door does not lock properly. This will not do. You can only be walked in on by a dog so many times before you start waiting until he’s asleep to use the bathroom.
So maybe the first things on my to-do list should be to find a place to stash the creepy Olivia doll, a lock for the bathroom and make some room for my milk.
And where, oh where, am I going to keep the Red Cat?