Living with a Boy; A Parent’s Warning

Before the boyfriend moved in my parents finally admitted something to me:

“Mary,” they said, “We couldn’t live with you.”

After living in their home for 18 years, they finally admitted that given the choice, they would never live with me again. Not going to lie, it wasn’t the most supportive thing I have ever heard them say.

I am going to put at least 5 years of hell down to hormones, puberty and being a teenage girl that was always right, and I’m going to add another 5 years for when I had to live under the same roof as three brothers (that in itself would cause anyone to be a bit of a nightmare).

I thought they were over-reacting but now I think they may have had a point.

The other day confirmed this. The boyfriend isn’t one to nag usually, mainly because I get in there first. Then, I heard this phrase:

“What has happened in here?” he shouted from our room.

I walked in and saw nothing unusual. Then after looking at the boyfriend again and seeing him move his eyes around the room whilst raising his eyebrows I slowly recognised the issue:

– The bed was unmade. I used to have a bunk bed so I never made my bed it was too difficult, and when you have never done it, well you just don’t do it.

– There were unworn clothes on the floor. Well that’s easy to explain. I’m a girl, and an indecisive one at that. In the morning I often try on a few things before I decide what I feel most comfortable in, and when you’re in a rush those extra few seconds putting it back on the hanger, well…it just doesn’t happen.

– Dirty clothes on the floor. What can I say? I have a very poor aim. I play netball, but I’m not a shooter.

– Straighteners and hairdryer lined from one end of the room to the other. Well I just like seeing how my hair looks with the rest of my outfit so the further back I go the better overall look I get. They were switched off which I think is what really matters.

I decided a blank face was the best look to go for, I mean you don’t want to admit your faults straight away do you? His reaction was short but meaningful: a sigh. The realisation that this is what he had just signed up too.

“It’s a mess. I tidied it yesterday,” he said.

I looked around the room again. I could still see the floor – what is his problem?

After a couple of seconds of silence I heard another sigh. “Mary, you have to make an effort to keep it tidy, I can’t live like this.” I bit my tongue, very ready to come back with the response of: well I can’t live in a tidy room. But that just makes me sound ridiculous.

So I picked up all my “mess” (I like to think of it as my second wardrobe) and put it back into my first wardrobe. Not quite sulking, but not far from it. Huffing around like every piece of clothing I picked up off the floor was the biggest effort in the world. (Now understanding why my parents couldn’t live with me…)

Definition 1. of compromise:

Compromise – having to keep your, sorry our, room tidy from mess that the other person thinks it is too messy.

I know what my parents are thinking. Good luck, she never did it for us in 18 years, aged 24 I don’t think she’s going to change now.

You know what, Mum and Dad, I agree.

Note: a week on from this discussion I have just re-entered the room. The boyfriend is away so I know that none of the stuff is his. I can’t see the floor. Some things never change.

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About maryv1990

Wandering graduate, working her way into adult life whilst making some detours to Europe and other countries...
This entry was posted in Leisure, Living with a Boy and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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