I live with my parents

I know you guys are all super turned on by the fact I live with my parents. I love my family more than anything in the world. But when you are single and 23 years old, living at home reallllly kills your opportunity to get any kind of action. Even if I do snag a guy (no I didn’t drug him) and he asks me out on a date, I can’t necessarily bring him back to my place because, well….it’ll be easier if I explain it in a story.   

Let me set the mood for you.

We’ll go out to a nice dinner, holding hands and kissing in the car, then park outside my suburbia house. We go through the keyless entry garage, past my dad’s shrine to the Chicago Bulls. Walk into the house where you see not one, but several pictures of me throughout my life. They’re not pretty pictures. I have braces. Pimples. No prom pictures though. The only perk of not being asked to go by anyone.

We sneak up to my room. Which is just past my parents’ room. They’re sleeping, don’t worry. And ignore my dad snoring like he’s never slept a day in his life. My mom? She only gets up every hour to pee, she won’t disturb our sexy time. That weird smell? Yeah, my brother lives at home too. He doesn’t shower too often. No seriously, it’s not a dead animal. It’s just what my brother’s room normally emits.

We finally sweep into my room. Past the door that has random positive quotes on it so I can make it through another god-forsaken day living under this roof. My room is purple. Not Barney purple, but close enough. There are posters of Fall Out Boy, Jason Segal and Louis CK. I know, I fucking rock.

I’ve got a bookshelf filled to capacity with books and movies. Jonas Brothers Season 1, check. All the seasons of The Office, check. Too many young adult fiction novels, check. Like I mentioned earlier, I fucking rock.

We fall onto my bed. The bedspread smells like old stale popcorn and spit. I forgot to wash it. Actually, I’ve never washed it. You now stop wondering why I didn’t date in high school. I have a twin mattress on top of a tan bed frame from IKEA. It has three pull out shelves at the bottom. At first glance it looks like a trundle bed for three small toddlers. No need to worry about what are in the drawers baby, just keep kissing me.

My pants come off and the old stale popcorn smell gets stronger. You realize that I sleep naked, and my ass smells like old stale popcorn. You’re not sure you’re still into me, but from here on out, every time you go to the movies and get popcorn, you get a boner.

Things start getting a little hotter and a little heavier, mainly because I’m on top of you and I like eating candy. So I could stand to lose a few lbs, big deal. Anyway, so we start sexy timing it when we hear it. A creak of the floorboards. We stop. Holding our breath. A flush of the toilet. More creaking of floorboards. Silence.

We smile in the dark and start kissing again only to be interrupted by a BANG BANG BANG. We throw ourselves off each other like we’ve been doused in water and electrocuted. My mom is outside my door saying, “hi sweetie. Heard you come in. I just had to use the bathroom. Goodnight!” Floorboards creak. Silence. Dad snores twice. Silence.

By now you already have your clothes back on, muttering in the dark about having to take your grandma to her eye appointment in the morning. I’m slightly intoxicated by the old stale popcorn smell, then realize it’s my stinky ass, and snap back to reality.

I throw you your sock that got lodged under one of my pillows. You quickly finish tying up your shoes and you’re down the stairs and out the front door before I can even comprehend why this is happening again.

You don’t call.

I can't imagine why you would.

I want popcorn. And need a shower.