The subject of roommates came up this weekend, and I found myself getting heated about it as I examined my feelings on this topic. I’m not a group living kind of person. If it’s not my family or future husband, then I’ll take my little Bento Box studio over a spacious shared three-bed, one-bath any day. I’ve been there, done that with roommates, and I know myself well enough to know that I genuinely like people, I love spending time with friends when I want to, and I cherish both freedom and privacy at home. Having to wait in line when you have to poop or being late for work because your roommate beat you to the shower are the least of the annoyances I’d prefer not to deal with at this stage of the game.

Theoretically, the idea of combining resources to save on rent, have a bigger space, and the company of someone you like is a good one. But in practice, there’s a fine line with people you live with, and the boundary is too readily crossed. I made a lot of rookie mistakes when I first started having roommates, like making polite conversation every time our paths crossed, or sharing my plate of chocolate chip cookies, and it screwed me into having a friend who wouldn’t go away (and who asked for a chocolate chip cookie every time I made them). I think some people have roommates just because it’s illegal to kidnap someone, and when you live together, it’s somehow justified to hold another person hostage. And even though it’s them being a dick to ask for a cookie when you’re not offering, or to knock on your bedroom door every time it’s closed, you can’t say no, because then you’re the dick. Who needs that kind of stress! 

And let’s be honest, it’s fun to be able to walk around naked and sing at the top of your lungs in the shower.

I haven’t always been able to live alone, so I get that it’s a necessary circumstance sometimes

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