She spoke like a politician, painting a perfect picture of our bachelorette pad. That’s what she called our two bedroom apartment the first month we moved in together in the beginning of September. Shortly after that, she got into a committed relationship. It took all of 2 months.
It isn’t that I was surprised it happened. My friend is a total catch. But it happened quickly and I just didn’t expect how it would affect my being able to walk around the apartment in my underwear. That was the hardest thing to give up. Because nothing screams bachelorette pad more than optional clothing in the shared living space.
Don’t get me wrong. He comes over maybe twice a week–hardly infringing on my pants-less mornings/evenings. But I find that in adulthood, one feels entitled to do what they want–when they want. And when one can’t, well, that’s when the adult diapers are required for the adult brat-fest about to be put on.
I am joking, of course. But maybe I’m not. Maybe its all the overtime I’ve been doing at work. Maybe I want to come home and not have to put on pants just because her boyfriend is over. Maybe it’s my period. Maybe I am the American Voter disillusioned by the glittering generalities of my elected representative. (LOL that was an incredibly terrible metaphor that took me too long to think up.)
I admit, I have not been the most helpful bachelorette pad buddy. She bounces around ideas with me to improve the visual aesthetic of our apartment. I often have nothing to contribute in ideas. I mean, that’s because I’ve got the taste of a tumblr browsing teenager. Her taste is a little more high brow, sophisticated and from the cover of a Pottery Barn catalog.
No one told me decorating was something adults had to worry about.
They told me there’d be bills to pay. Jobs to do. Responsibilities to be met. Careers to determine. Dreams to chase.
At least I can do it in my underwear.