By WENDY LANG
There comes a time in a girl’s life when she must move back home with her parents. It’s all part of growing down, moving backward and becoming a non-confident, dependent woman.
But it also comes with copious amounts of food and widescreen TVs. So I recommend it to everybody.
I am in my late twenties and I recently chose to move back in (temporarily) with my retired parents, for reasons too dull to mention. But it’s been a fascinating psychological experiment, and as a bonus byproduct I’ve now caught up on those missed episodes of Heartbeat!
Before I go on, I must emphasise how appreciative I am that my parents agreed to let me come home. Especially as they haven’t voiced distaste at my bags-of-disorganisation which have been lining the hallway for months. (Although I do suspect those plastic storage boxes which mysteriously appeared may be a form of non-verbal communication).
When I told my friends I was moving back, their reactions fell into two groups. The first featured comments like “That’ll be lovely to have home-cooked meals!” and “It’s such a great way to save money!”.
The second included looks of worry and objection.
“Don’t do it!” said one cautionary party, who may or may not have been my sibling.
Another friend gave me a stern talking-to. “DO NOT move back just because it’s easy. ONLY move back if you’re saving money to head overseas or buy a house. And give yourself a STRICT deadline.”
Her response echoed the urgency of a NASA director coordinating a moon landing: “Listen here, Commander. You’ve got one tank of oxygen left, so get your chunk o’ moon rock then get the Hell out, you understand me? And for God’s sake, DO NOT dawdle and attempt low-gravity Gangnam Style. You wanna die?!”
I reassured my concerned friend, “I’m not moving back just because it’s easy. It definitely won’t be easy”. It was a semi-lie. Of course it’s easy! Moving back home means you don’t have to deal with grown-up things. You can withdraw into your comfort zone. You can pretend to be sixteen again. It’s fantastic!
Except, she’s right to be concerned. You’re not sixteen, you’re an adult and you’ve gotten used to living as an independent adult for years. And you don’t realise how much you’ve changed until you show up to discover your parents are still telling the same jokes.