I have to be honest here. There is no greater pleasure than returning home after a stressful day at work, popping open a beer, and running yourself a long, hot bath.
There is no greater sin than having that bath and beer be interrupted by desperate knocks on the door from your male roommate who needs to “take a dump, man!”
Like most twenty-somethings, I have had my fair share of horrific roommates. From my college roomie who thought it’d be fun to have a kiddie-pool full of turtles and other aquatic life in our living-room to my live-in ex boyfriend who shot paintballs into our apartment walls, my life has been a long string of disastrous experiments in cohabitation.
I now have the luxury of living alone for the first time in my life. The messes that I clean up are entirely my own. I can decorate how I please and can walk around in nothing but a pair of socks and a hat. It is glorious, yes. But it is also very lonely.
After my ex moved out, I thought that I was going to be having the time of my life in my new bachelorette pad. I would listen to angry girl music at top volume, paint the walls loud, obnoxious colors, and fill the bathroom with all of the lady supplies my little heart desired. After about a week of living alone, the novelty wore off and I found myself sitting on my couch next to my dog and thinking, Dang, I wish there was somebody here to talk to.
Roommates are the makeshift families we build when we are all poor and young. You guys can cook dinner together, fight, play pranks, and divvy up household chores. There is always somebody around to talk to, to go out with, and to be there for you when you need advice. If you have male roommates it is especially nice because they can do things like fix kitchen sink pipes and dispose of the mouse that the cat killed.
Living alone does have it’s advantages, but sometimes I just want somebody to come live with me for a month or two just so I have somebody I can come home to and cook dinner with.