For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When Living At Home Is Enuf...

You know how people with kids have to make that crucial decision about when to tell someone they like about said kids. Well I probably should put that sentence in the past tense because these days “you got kids” is one of the first questions asked when you meet someone. But that’s a post for another day…

But when should you tell a potential date who could turn into a potential mate that you live at home? I mean they may ask, “so where do you stay?” You don’t have to say at my mama’s house. You can just say, “oh in [enter your city here]”. Or if they ask, “do you have roommates?” You can say yes. I mean are you lying if it just so happens to be your mama, your daddy and your grandmamma. Or does the grandmamma only apply to me?

The thing is once you reveal you live at home, it’s like you lose some credibility as an adult. The fact that you are a professional with a savings account, a 401k and a plan to start you own business goes out the window. People seem to be understanding and supportive. But are they really? They might say, “oh yeah well the cost of living is ridiculous”, whilst they are thinking about how they are living on their own and surviving. Or they might say and this is when you know they’re trying to make you feel better, “oooh that must be nice, I would live at home if I could.”

No, you wouldn’t. And here’s why: because once you’ve moved out and lived on your own, you know that moving back in with your parents can be a pain. Yes there is that whole no rent thing. But how many of y’all know nothing is free? Yes, even when it’s with your parents. Oh the errands that must be run, the things that must be retrieved for a parent and once again in my case grandparent, and the random things that they must be helped with. And I start to wonder, what would you do if I weren’t here?

“Ahhh…” you say, “but that all seems like a small price to pay”. And I guess it is but sometimes I just want to walk around the house naked, singing songs from the The Wiz, eating an ice cream sandwich or go into my room, close the door and not be disturbed. But then one day I came into my room and saw that on my daddy’s day off, in his “spare time”, he had decided to change my bed around and was trying to get my bookshelf out of the room, allegedly to maximize space. And you know why he could do that? Because it’s his house, therefore it’s his room. And so nothing really belongs to me. And that’s a hard pill to swallow.

On top of all that is the whole pesky dating and going out thing. When I say, “I’m leaving.” I hear, “where are you going?” And it’s not in the way my parents used to say it when I was in high school when they needed the run down, the particulars of my every movement; it’s more in a ‘I’m just curious way…’ But boy does it make me feel like I’m still in high school. And then there are those nights when I have a grown folks’ sleepover at someone else’s house. Oh the walk of shame that takes place in the morning. I mean let’s be honest, my parents know that I have had sex. But do they really need to know that I just got my back blown out last night as I greet them the next morning sitting at the table eating pancakes? Although free meals are another plus, the awkward conversation that happens after the morning, after, sometimes cancels that out.

I guess the obvious answer would be to move out, so I could have my own space and do what I want to do. But I’m not ready. So I have to take the good with the bad and accept the things I cannot change. Yes, living at home is kind of like being a recovering alcoholic. You can be on the edge at random times, ready to snap at any given moment, all the while desperately wanting a drink. On the oft chance that I have the house to myself (even for a few hours), please believe that as I walk around scantily clad, eating my ice cream sandwich, I will be singing my favorite line from The Wiz, “You can’t win, you can’t break even and you can’t get out of the game…”

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Fridays!