Pretending I Have A House
It’s like playing dress up, but for adults.
My parents are on a little vacay in Norway. Yes, I am bitter they didn’t take me. But…
It gives me, their thirty-two-year-old teenager, an opportunity to housesit. For two-and-a-half weeks I get to be a homeowner. It’s like my Polly Pocket house came to life!
Now if this were happening fourteen years ago, I’d be reaching into my sock-drawer vodka stash and telling all my friends to come over. But these days I’m pretty enthralled by the wizardry that is my parents’ egg poacher.
I begin my mornings by walking out on to the porch and shouting, “Look at me guys! I’m a boomer with a house! How cool is that?! I OWN this thing!”
Sure, I get some strange looks, but every street needs a weird neighbor. I take my job as house sitter very seriously.
And then, yes, I proceed to poach some eggs.
I get to participate in several exciting homeowner activities, such as rolling the garbage cans to the curb and rolling them back in. I get to sit on the couch and gaze into the yard. I get to sip my coffee and think, “Yeah, that’s a good yard.”
I can walk into this yard directly from the house and touch grass. Like, I don’t have to get in my car and drive to the park for…
