The other day I found myself saying, “I don’t know who you are, but I want to be you,” out loud after coming across a photo on Instagram. Please keep in mind that I currently am the only living being in the house; I don’t even have a pot plant to pass judgment on me. But I feel like the many swan figurines in my house (again, I can get away with this as I live alone) cringed a little inside at that one.

 

Want to know what it was a photo of?

 

A woman’s hand holding what looked like a Reuben sandwich, which had been buttered generously on out the outside and grilled to perfection.

 

If my wish came true and I was that person, I would be holding said buttery, meaty delight and therefore would be within close enough proximity to it to shove it down my throat with the gusto of a girl who claims she “only getsss along with guyyyyz”.

 

The beautiful thing this whole incident, aside from the sandwich of course, was that I didn’t have to explain myself to anyone.

 

When the closest thing to another living, judging organism in your home is the mould growing on your couch, you can go about your business without having to justify your behaviour to anyone. As freeing as this is, it can be a breeding ground for a whole other kind of bacteria, which infests the mind rather than the lungs (please never sleep on my couch; I can’t be responsible for how sick a piece of furniture I got free from a friend of a former work colleague makes you). It’s the kind of growth that makes think that your home is a judgement free zone.

 

And that’s bad, because it’s not.

 

Like it or loathe it, eventually someone other than you will enter your house and they WILL comment on things. Whether it’s the bunch of flowers that are still in a vase despite all the petals having dropped off or a collection of onion tableware, people are going to notice it. And they will tell you they’ve noticed it. And they will ask you why it’s there. And you won’t be able to verbalise why you paid ten whole dollars on a set of salt and pepper shakers and a vinegar bottle shaped like onions. Telling your houseguest/the intruder that you “thought they were cool” or you “really like onions” won’t cut it.

 

They won’t say much more on the topic, but they will make a face that tells you they don’t approve or they think you’re a bit weird and you will want to show them the door. When you live alone, your house becomes incredibly personal. Once you finally realise that you call the shots, you start being yourself without restraint. And this leaves its mark on your humble abode; sometimes by way of DNA but mostly by way of décor styling, both conscious and unconscious. So when someone picks on your knick-knackery, it feels like they’re picking on you.

 

Perhaps this is why have very few friends, and live in another state to many of them.