I’m about to leave town for a long weekend where I’m going to enjoy all the benefits of a five-star resort: Full course dinners. Continental breakfasts. Clean sheets. Fresh towels. Free cable. Complimentary wi-fi. All the fixings. The amenities are endless, really.
But this is no five-star resort. It’s my fucking parent’s house. And I’m 100% serious when I say I wish I still lived there. Before you scoff at the notion of this, just hear me out.
It’s like living in a constant bed & breakfast. I’d get to be lying in bed wondering, “Wait, is that bacon I smell downstairs? Can’t wait to snag those leftovers.” I’d get home from work needing a snack and see a fresh jar of pickles in the fridge just screaming my name. I’d get to polish off the leftover cheese from my mom’s book club. I want to be at work dreading going to the grocery store to buy ingredients for some half-ass meal, only to receive a, “You around for dinner?” text. That’s like winning the damn lottery.
At my age, the biggest issue with living with your parents is the stigma surrounding it: you’re lazy, you’re unsuccessful, you’re a mama’s boy. But when you take a step back, is it really any different than living with your current roommates? No, you just happen to have wildly successful and responsible roommates. It’s not like McConaughey didn’t execute in Failure To Launch. He was baller as hell, drove a Porsche 911, sold yachts for a living, and ended up taking down Sarah Jessica Parker. If that’s considered being “unsuccessful” then I’m fine with settling.
Does society perhaps frown down on a 28-year old dude residing at his parent’s house? Yeah. Is it hard to invite girls home from the bar for fear that my mom would offer to make us pancakes the next day? Yeah. Should I be establishing my credit and gaining some independence? Sure. But at the end of the day, we’re in a recession, guys. Circumstances are different in 2015.
And for every reason not to live with your parents, there’s a million reasons to live with your parents. Circle drive need plowing? Leak in the living room? Water heater on the fritz? Cable go out? These things will just sort themselves out. And by “sort themselves out,” I mean “my parents are going to handle the fuck out of this situation while I spend hella cash at happy hour because my rent is cheap as chips.”
Furthermore, why would I want to chill in a gross apartment on an Ikea couch when I can lounge around on a Pottery Barn sofa that’s probably five times the price and infinitely more comfortable? I’m not maintaining the health of the slipcover, but you know who is? My mom.
Yeah, sure, it may get annoying when the DVR is full of back episodes of The Today Show and Downton Abbey, but who would I be to complain? I wouldn’t even have DVR if it wasn’t for my roommates footing the bill. Like, I’m 28. I can’t afford the association dues that cover the pool and tennis court maintenance. Money doesn’t grow on trees, guys.
But don’t get it twisted. I’m not saying that I want my mom to do my laundry and cook all my meals, but I’m also not going to stop her from grabbing my dirty towel on her way to wash hers. There’s a delicate balance between assuming personal responsibility and allowing your mother to fulfill her inherent motherly duties. You think it’s easy for her to be an empty-nester? You think she likes missing her children? This isn’t a game. These are real emotions and no one wants to let their mother down.
Maybe Bradley Cooper was right in Failure To Launch when he said, “I’m a ramblin’ man, I’m a tumbleweed, I’m a seeker of truth. And one truth I’ve learned is that a child is a parent’s greatest joy, which is why I can’t leave my parents’ place because they would miss me!” Don’t feel selfish and lazy moving back in with your parents, because at the end of the day, you’re also doing it for them.
And well, for that leftover cheese from book club, too. .
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