Couch Potato

Couch Potato

Suddenly living with someone after having lived alone for a long time can be shocking mentally, physically and emotionally. I remember when I first got an entire house to myself. I never cleaned, not even my clothes, never ate, and never slept either. The TV was on 24/7 regardless of whether I was watching it or not, clothes lay scattered on the floor, on the couch and yes, even by the kitchen sink.

You see I had come from a situation where I was mother, father, maid and shamba boy of the homestead and this new found freedom threatened to turn me into the couch that holds the potato. So glad was I that no one needed anything of me that I let all that freedom go to my head. I was king of my turf, but that too changed – much sooner than I had expected. Over a year down the line, I got an unexpected guest and had to clean up my act.

You could’ve eaten off the floor after I was done scrubbing that place and all because I wanted the now overstayed guest to feel welcome. It didn’t take long however for me to realize that my housemate didn’t share my desire to make and keep things clean.

He assumed that just because there were no parents to tell us to clean up, there was license to turn a perfectly decent house into a crumb crusted pig sty. I mean, he ate anywhere, anyhow. Unfortunately, he’d mistaken my initiative of cleaning up after him the first few days to mean that I enjoyed babysitting like the 24 year old toddler he unmistakably was. Oh, the horror!

The bugger would use 6 cups, 6 plates and 6 spoons in one sitting. Well, I assume one spoon would be for sugar, another salt, one for tea, for honey, Royco, flour, and a final one to stir everything up; well, at least that would make sense if we actually at that time had honey, Royco or flour.

Truth is, we were much too poor to afford any such extras and the fact that he had no steady job made my pocket even thinner. Where does anyone get off coming to live with me and expecting that I’ll take care of them pretty much the same way a parent would, and get this – we’re the same age? If anything, I’m younger by half a year. That counts for something, does it not?

I’m not saying I didn’t have warning, he himself told me he was a lazy bum. Only difference is, a bum will move from time to time. This guy and a big fat boulder could be identical in every possible way only difference being that he sleeps, raises the roof when he snores and eats the hell out of my wallet.

I don’t claim innocence when it comes to living with people. It makes me wonder what it was like for my mother when she finally got married and had to adapt to my father’s strange tendencies and when she had each of us four kids. I don’t envy that situation one bit and I dread the day I have to live with my spouse.

I’m a generally organized person and relatively clean. I don’t like to see soil on the floor or a dent in a pillow at certain times of the month. I don’t like to leave things dirty on the sink for days on end. And I fear for my health if when you get out of the bathroom, the color of your bathwater, matches the color of soil.

I especially hate fecal stains decorating the inside of my toilet bowl, whether it’s my fecal matter or not. And even though I’m not hosting guests any time soon, I like to walk through the front door and be greeted by freshness and a floor that I’m not afraid to sit on. Maybe I’m a perfectionist, or maybe I just think I’m better than anyone else, but I would rather that than not care enough to realize how much of a nuisance I was being to those around me, and more importantly, to myself.

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