Remember when you were a teenager and your parents worked late or went out for the evening or–oh my god!–went away for the weekend and you had the whole entire house all to yourself? And it was totally the best thing ever!
Even if it was only for an hour, having the house to myself when I was a teenager was a hallowed experience, and that hasn’t changed.
David went away for the weekend to spend time with his college buddies, and even though he was taking the car, and even though I barely know anyone in this town, and even though I had virtually nothing planned to occupy that time, I still immediately got that little thrill.
The magic of having the whole house to yourself for any extended period of time has nothing to do with relief in someone else’s absence. …Ok, maybe when I was a teenager it did. But David’s impending absence inspired no such relief. I’d miss having him around, for sure.
It’s that there’s a certain luxury in being alone. It inspires indulgence. You can do all kinds of stuff alone that you can’t do in front of your significant other. (Although, it turns out that I’m comfortable doing pretty much anything in front of David. Ok, sure, if I watch 7 straight hours of trashy reality tv shows he’s going to tease me relentlessly about it and perhaps be a little disgusted. But the fact is, I’ve totally done that in front of him before, and probably totally will do so again. Singing 40’s musicals at the top of my lungs while wandering around the house in my pajamas? Been there, done that. In an attempt to tame my crazy hair I wrap a turban of paper towels around my head for 20 minutes after every shower, and he smiles at me over breakfast like I’m not the least bit insane. This freedom to be found in solitude is an illusion because my boyfriend loves me–completely and without restriction–and so within our partnership I am already free. Sappy, right? Also true).
And I knew that being without a car would make me feel stranded, and I knew that being without David would make me feel lonely, and I knew that the best way to combat that would be to indulge in the admittedly awesome magic that is having the entire house to myself.
Oh, the things I had planned! It would be a weekend-long girly sleepover for one! All the embarrassing things! All!
Gossip Girl marathons! Ice cream for breakfast, face masks, cold press iced coffee with Bailey’s, farmers market strawberries all day long, sitting on the floor in the middle of my living room with a towel and a bowl of very hot water and shaving my legs while watching tv (yeah, that last one is weird. To me, though, that is just the ultimate in uninhibited relaxation. Who knows why. I am bad at the girl thing. My best friend and my mother had to hold me down when I was 20 and forcibly pluck my eyebrows for me because I refused to do it myself on some weird principle I’ve long since forgotten about. Fact). Just an endless string of indulgence! PILLOW FIGHTS WITH THE CAT!
It didn’t happen like that. Of course not. What happened is I ate a mangosteen, and watched just one episode of Gossip Girl, and didn’t shave my legs at all. I did all the laundry and after my initial text to David to make sure he got in safely after the long drive, I left him to it with his boys because nothing ruins a Guys Weekend like a girlfriend who calls all the time. I went to the farmers market via the bus and got caught in a thunderstorm and an interracial homeless couple out of their minds on illegal substances got into a physical fight over whether or not the gentleman was hitting on me (he was). I brushed the cat and slept in the EXACT middle of the bed and kept all the sheets and covers to myself.
And was very, very happy when David came back home (hung over as hell and looking like he had had the time of his life!)